Spatula Raisin
by ShelleyBarnard
Summary: COMPLETE! Another Tabula Rasa fic where the Scoobies don't get their memories back right away. This one is told entirely from Giles' point of view.
1. Prologue

Spoiler: "Tabula Rasa." Spike didn't come to the Magic Box, vampires never attacked, and Willow's crystal was never broken. (Spike was killed in the stand-alone companion piece to this fic entitled "The Mayor's Legacy," archived at AdultFanFiction. The companion piece, which is definitely NOT Spike-friendly, is not at all necessary for understanding this fic.)

Feedback: Always desirable. Kind, cruel, hateful, adoring; I don't care. It's all good.

Disclaimer: I don't own anybody or anything in the Buffyverse. That honor falls to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. The only thing that is mine is the elderly Macintosh computer that I am using to write this story, and even that falls prey to periodic demon possession. (Don't ask.) Suing me would be an exercise in futility, so please don't.

Author's Notes: This is based upon a challenge that I issued to ODD. You can read it in its entirety , but the basic outline is as follows:

What if Spike had been dusted by the loan shark before he ever made it to the Magic Box? If Spike hadn't been there, the vampires never would have attacked, Willow's crystal never would have been broken in the confusion, and the memory loss spell would have remained intact at least until Giles' plane left. 

Requirements: 

Leave the memory loss spell in effect for at least one week but for less than one month. 

Xander should be furious about the fact that Giles slept with Anya.

Anya graphically comparing the two men in bed. 

A bright, cheerful season one-ish Buffy, one that almost justifies Willow's decision to do the spell in the first place.

Many, MANY thanks to Morrwen for the beta! 

PROLOGUE

Giles had never been so nervous in his life. When would Willow and Xander get here? Lord, he just wanted to get this over with and get to the airport as quickly as possible. He wasn't sure that he could take Buffy's glare for too much longer. Before he could reach the breaking point, however, he heard the bell over the door tinkling quietly, and the two missing Scoobies entering his shop. He waited for them to walk over towards him; now that they were here, he wanted a few more seconds to prepare himself.

"Thanks for the jacket," Willow said as she entered. "It's cold out there."

"Not a problem," Xander replied, "the cold only makes me stronger and more macho-like." 

They were behind Giles; it was time for him to get this over with. "I'm glad you're here, um..." Giles trailed out as when he realized that the others were all staring at him. He couldn't see Buffy, but he could feel her glare lancing through the back of his chest. "I have something I really have to tell you all. Um... I know it feels like we've been through this before—"

"Why don't you just jump to the chase," Buffy interrupted snidely, finally coming back downstairs. "Tell them that you're ducking out of your sacred duty **again**, just like when you were a kid. Tell them that you're abandoning me, well, all of us actually, while you—"

"Buffy!" Everyone looked startled at his tone, but no one was more surprised than Giles. He hadn't meant to yell at her, and didn't know where his sudden irritation came from. He turned to towards Buffy, who was staring at him with equal parts of hurt and resentment. "I'm sorry, Buffy. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that." Buffy just watched him, with no hint of forgiveness upon her face. Well, what did he expect? 

Sighing in resignation, Giles turned towards the rest of the group. "Buffy's right. I should jump to the chase.' Um... I'm headed back to England and I plan to stay... indefinitely." Giles fell heavily into his chair beside Anya and tried to avoid the shocked looks that everyone other than Buffy was giving him.

Xander, as Giles might have predicted, was the first to recover his voice. "Now? Not now, I mean, not after... everything."

He had to be firm here, or they would dissuade him from doing what he **needed** to do. "Yes, now."

"For real this time?" Anya's chipper voice reminded him that not everyone would try to prevent his departure. "'Cause honest to Pete, a young shopkeeper's heart can only take so much..." Anya trailed out, as she felt Buffy's hostile gaze moving towards her. "I mean, not that I want you to go—"

Buffy cut her off, sounding hard and angry. "I can't do this." And just like that, she was running away from them all, up the stairs, toward the door. She put her hand on the doorknob, but then paused. "I just, I don't think..."

As ever, Willow tried to act as the peacemaker. "Buffy, listen." Buffy took her hand off of the knob and turned around to face the group again, but made no effort to move any closer to her friends. "I know this must be awful for you, and I, I'm sorry, I... I'm so sorry for..."

Buffy nodded her head impatiently, looking impossibly old and bitter. "Sorry. Everybody's sorry. I know that you guys are just trying to help... but it's just, it's too much. And, and I, I can't take it any more." Buffy shook her head angrily or perhaps simply in hopes of fighting off impending tears. "If you guys... if you guys understood how it felt... how it feels. It's like I'm dying, it—"

After months of hiding her feelings from everyone, Buffy was finally opening up to her loved ones about how she truly felt. Because this was the Hellmouth, however, she never got to finish. Willow's spell kicked in at that moment, and they all fell unconscious. It would be over a week before they came back to this moment, and by then, the Scoobies' small world had been turned upside down.


	2. Chapter One

Pairing: G/Anya, X/Anya, and G/B. My muse hates me.

Disclaimer: Joss owns not me. Sigh....

I'd like to thank everyone who participated in the discussion on the Watcher Girls list about Amnesia Giles' attitude towards women. It gave me the courage to take this scene just the way I wanted to from the beginning.

Part One

A light flicked on, a person yawned in his ear, and he began to waken. He was sitting at a table, his head on the shoulder of a beautiful woman with ash brown hair. He was mortified to see a bit of drool on her, and surreptitiously wiped it off with his hand. His attempt at nonchalance failed, however, and the brunette startled. She frowned at him, and he felt the corners of his own mouth turning down in response. In confusion, he asked, "Hello?" The woman didn't say anything, which was a severe disappointment. Partly because he liked talking to beautiful women, but mostly because this aspect of his personality was the ONLY thing he knew about himself. He had been hoping rather desperately that **she** knew things about him. Behind the brunette was a well-endowed blonde; perhaps he should question her.

A high-pierced shriek diverted his attention from both of the beautiful strangers. Turning towards the noise, he saw a brown-haired teenage girl scooting across the floor into a corner. She looked terrified. "Who, who are you people?"

A very thin blonde knelt down beside the girl. As he might have predicted, the girl cringed back in terror. Still, the blonde kept at it, gently whispering, "Don't worry."

The girl tried to move even further back into the corner, although there was nowhere for her to go. "Please don't hurt me!"

The emaciated blonde gentled her voice even further. "Oh, it's okay. I don't know anyone here either." 

"Yeah?" The teenager was still nervous, but at least she was no longer panicking. "Who are you?"

He learned forward, anxious to hear the answer, though the skinny blonde's look of confusion was hardly comforting. "I, uh...." That was it, then. The two girls didn't seem to know who they were, indicating that he wasn't alone in his predicament. There was obviously a connection here of some kind.

A dark-haired young man that he hadn't noticed earlier scrambled to his feet and diverted his attention. The young man glared at everyone and demanded, "Okay, who are you freaks?"

A gorgeous redhead standing next to the young man gave him a look of hurt confusion. "You don't know me?"

The bloke gave her a steely look. "Not a clue."

The redhead scowled and said, "But you were just all like, 'oh, hey.'" 

He smirked. He had just learned something else about himself: he may not know how he normally went about picking up women, but he was quite positive that he could a better job than that. "Oh, hey" indeed! He may not remember ever uttering a single word besides that initial "hello" to the brunette, but somehow he was still certain that he had far more sophisticated seduction skills than that!

Meanwhile, the dark-haired man (or perhaps boy was the more appropriate label) was speaking again. "Yeah, 'cause I thought you were a girl and I'd remember, but..." 

Ooh, wrong move, Lothario. He stifled a smile as the redhead grabbed her chest and huffed, "Well, I am a girl! I'm... not sure... who I am exactly, but..."

Black-haired boy was perhaps not as dumb as he seemed, for he reacted by changing the subject, yelling at the top of his lungs to prevent redhead from changing it back. "Okay, why was I on the ground? And why are you all staring at me? Is this some kind of psych test? Am I getting paid for this?"

As interesting as their little melodrama was, he began to think that it was time to do something a bit more productive. Perhaps the skinny blonde had been on the right track, speaking softly and trying to halt the incipient hysteria that seemed to loom in the room. He stood up, and gently turned to black-haired boy. "It's not just you. Does anyone remember anything?" Everyone shook his or her head, and he decided that it was time to try a bit of levity. "Well, maybe we all got... terribly drunk and this is some sort of, uh, blackout." As he spoke, a smile worked its way onto his face and he learned something else about himself: the idea of drinking to the point of unconsciousness didn't appall him at all. That was rather, well, appalling...

A flaw in his logic appeared immediately, however, when the young girl spoke up. "I don't think I drink." She probably didn't. Besides, he didn't feel drunk. He couldn't recall a time that he had ever been drunk, but somehow he knew that it didn't feel this.

The woman next to him spoke up for the first time. "I, I don't see any booze. I don't feel any head bumps. I don't see Allen Funt."

Allen Funt? This was intriguing. The brunette obviously knew **somebody**, which was more than he could say for himself. He turned to her anxiously and asked, "Who?"

The black-haired boy cut off this potentially productive line of questioning. For no apparent reason, he began chanting, "Okay. I'm not panicking. I'm not. I'm not." He glared at the boy, as did all the women in the room. The black-haired boy flushed. "Stop looking at me like I'm panicking!"

Once again, the skinny blonde proved to be a calming influence. "Hey, hey, take it easy, guy. Okay, no one's hurt, right? And, and none of us look all hatchety-murdery, so... we're probably safe. Here." He found himself nodding approvingly. The blonde may not have much meat on her bones, but she evidently had a good head on her shoulders. He admired her ability to say what needed to be said. Unfortunately, she ruined the effect somewhat when she trailed out uncertainly, "Wherever here is..."

The redhead walked over to a counter, peering curiously around the room as she walked. "Look at this stuff on these shelves. Weird jars of weird stuff." She picked up a heavy volume from the counter and continued, "Weird books with weird covers, like... Magic for Beginners." The redhead's eyes opened comically, and he would have laughed if the situation hadn't been so serious. "Oh!"

The only person who hadn't spoken yet, the busty blonde (as he labeled her, to distinguish her from the intelligent skinny blonde) that he had noticed earlier, blushed and stammered out, "This is a magic shop. A-a-a real magic shop."

"Well, maybe that's it," the skinny blonde said comfortingly. Perhaps she wasn't as intelligent as he believed. "Maybe something magic happened--" 

"Magic," he gasped out, unable to restrain himself. "Magic's all balderdash and chicanery. I'm afraid we don't know a bloody thing." He realized that everyone was staring at him, perhaps because he had now joined the black-haired boy and teen-aged girl in the unhelpful camp. Desperate to find something productive to say, he latched onto a small fact that he had just learned about himself. "Except I seem to be British, don't I? Uh, and a man. With... glasses." Oh, that was invaluable, he thought as he removed the item in question. Feeling like a fool, he muttered, "Well, that narrows it down considerably."

His little outburst brought the girl back to the verge of tears. The teenager turned towards the skinny blonde who had calmed her down before and whimpered, "I don't like this."

"It's okay," the skinny blonde asserted. "Don't worry. We'll take care of each other." Still showing good instincts, the blonde brushed some loose hair back from the girl's face, eliciting a tentative smile from the child.

Determined to do a better job following skinny-blonde's lead, he gave the girl an encouraging smile. "We'll all get our memory back, and it'll all be right as rain."

"Easy for you to say, English guy." Wonderful. Black-haired boy wasn't done panicking. "At least you know you have someone; the rest of us are all alone!"

"What on earth are you talking about," he asked in confusion.

"You have a woman," the boy asserted hotly. "The one you were sleeping with!"

Well, that sounded rather bad, didn't it? "We were simply resting together," he temporized.

He needn't have worried about the brunette's reaction, however, for she held up her hand and yelled in excitement. "Look! It's okay. We're engaged."

Well, that was a rather pleasant thing to find out about himself. When he realized that he couldn't prevent a soppy smile from creeping onto his face, he decided to limit his verbal response to a happy, "Oh."

His fiancée smiled back at him. "It's a lovely ring."

"I guess it'd have to be," black-haired boy piped up nastily, "considering the fact that you are half his age. I mean, why else would a beautiful girl like you agree to marry an old guy like him?"

His fiancée beamed happily. "Beautiful?"

"Old?" he demanded hotly. "You little twerp, I'm young enough to still get carded." Of course, he had no idea if that was true, considering the fact that there was no mirror in the room and he didn't know what he looked like. Still, he didn't **feel** old...

He may have missed the implications of his last statement, but luckily the redhead did not. "Carded," she exclaimed with great excitement. "Driver's licenses!"

He reached into his back pocket, and pulled out a black leather wallet. The first thing he noticed when he opened it was a picture of the skinny blonde girl. Shouldn't that spot be reserved for his fiancée? Determined to figure out what that meant later (preferably much later), he wrenched his attention back to the task at hand. He soon found a California driver's license and a resident alien card. He studied the two pictures, and determined that his instinct was correct. He **wasn't** excessively old. He had a rather serviceable face, in fact.

"It's me!" He looked up in surprise, his musings interrupted by the black-haired boy. "'Alexander Harris.' Cute picture. Hey, I exist."

The black-haired boy, Alexander, had barely finished talking when the redhead spoke up. "I'm Willow Rosenberg. Heh, Willow. Funny name."

The two young people reminded him that he was supposed to be finding out his name, not looking at pictures of himself and his loved ones. Not that the skinny blonde qualified as a loved one, of course. Not if he was engaged... He jerked his mind back to the business at hand, and looked again at his resident alien card. Rupert Giles. Rupert. What a horrid name! Conversation continued around him while he tried to process the fact that he was a man named Rupert. He rejoined reality when he realized that the skinny blonde was speaking again.

"--ry. Me neither. But here, look." The blonde reached over towards the teenager and grabbed a charm from the girl's necklace. "You're Dawn."

The girl, Dawn, gave a charming smile. "Or, Umad."

He was certain that his fiancée hadn't spoken yet, but it appeared that the two blondes had identified themselves while he was preoccupied. He would have to get their names later. In the meantime, it was time to confess his embarrassing secret. "I'm, uh, called Rupert Giles."

He expected to be mocked for this announcement, but the only reaction came from his fiancée. She gave him an amazingly sweet smile and crooned, "Rupert." Lord, what a wonderful woman! He had obviously made an excellent decision when he asked her to marry him. She must have felt his eyes upon her, for she smiled at him again while she self-consciously played with a chain around her neck.

Rupert's attention was abruptly yanked away. "Oh, hey," shouted the redhead, Willow. "I have a name on my jacket. Harris."

"Harris," exclaimed Alexander in surprise. "That's my last name. Maybe I have a brother and you go out with him. Or maybe you go out with me." Rupert was amused by the fact that Alexander was still trying to make time with the young woman.

"Well," Willow drawled, "we did wake up all snuggly-wuggly. Maybe you're my boyfriend." 

"Either that, or I got one pissed-off brother out there somewhere," Alexander joked. The two young people grinned at each other, and Rupert wondered whether the black-haired boy's "oh hey" had been an effective pick-up line after all.

Rupert's errant thoughts were interrupted by a sudden shout from his fiancée. "I'm Anya! Um, this key fits this lock. And, uh, the forms... next to the cash register say that, uh, Rupert and, and Anya own the shop together."

"This is **our** magic shop?" Rupert was frankly shocked. He owned a **magic shop**?!? Rupert walked over to Anya, wanting to see the proof for himself. Sure enough, he, Rupert Giles, was a co-owner of The Magic Box, purveyor of balderdash and chicanery. "Uh, well, that's very, uh, uh, progressive of me." 

The teenager, Dawn (or possibly Umad) turned to the skinny blonde. "So you don't have a name?" He must have missed that fact earlier.

"Of course I do," the skinny blonde said comfortingly. "I just don't happen to know it."

This made Dawn smile for the first time since they had awoken. "You want me to name you?"

"Oh, that's sweet," the blonde said, "but I think I can name myself. I'll name me... Joan."

Dawn made a horrible face and grunted, "Ugh!"

"What," demanded Joan. "Did you just 'ugh' my name?"

"No," the teenager insisted untruthfully. "I just... I mean, it's so blah. Joan?"

Fingers dancing along his neck reminded Rupert that he had a fiancée. A beautiful, brunette named Anya. Who was now running her fingers through his hair. Ignoring the spat over Joan's name, Rupert smiled shyly at Anya. She gave him a smoldering look that went straight to his groin, and made him wonder why the two of them were still in their shop. Other than the fact that he didn't have a clue where their home might be...

Joan was speaking to the entire group now, not just Dawn. Rupert reminded himself that Joan had demonstrated leadership skills and a level head, and he really should pay attention to her. "–need to figure out what's going on. We need to get help." See, she was being sensible. The sensible thing for **him** to do would be to ignore the small hand stroking his arm and concentrate upon the problem at hand. For the time being, anyway... "We have a kid here-"

"A teenager," Dawn interrupted hotly.

"A teenager," Joan conceded gracefully. "And we have no idea what's wrong with us. I think a hospital's our best bet."

Anya was now pulling gently at his clothes, and Rupert wondered how long he could possibly remain sensible. He'd best get moving--and away from Anya's distracting fingers--while he was still able to do so. "Uh, yes, let's, um, let's head out." And get the visit to the hospital over as soon as possible. 

"But I don't want to leave the shop," Anya protested. "I have to stay here and protect the cash register."

Rupert stared at her. Apparently, he had committed himself to marrying a woman who was insane. Rupert pulled a large set of keys out of his front pocket and took a deep breath. In a deliberately gentle voice, he said, "We will, of course, lock the shop up before we go. The cash register will be perfectly safe."

"Oh, well, that's alright then!" Anya gave him a dazzlingly bright smile, and Rupert decided that must be why he put up with her somewhat skewed priorities. "Let's go then!"

As Anya enthusiastically bounded up the steps, Joan once again showed an admirable ability to get down to practicalities. "Any suggestions on how we're gonna get there?" When no one said anything for a moment, Joan turned to Anya. "When you were behind the counter, did you see any phone books? Perhaps we should call a taxi company or something? Two cabs should be enough to get us all there, I would imagine."

It only took a few minutes to find a phone book and call for two taxis. They were now forced to sit down and wait for the cabs to arrive. Anya began massaging his thigh underneath the table, and Rupert wondered whether he should grab her hand and place it on the table, or whether he should grab her hand and force it to stay still right where it was. He resolved to grab her hand first, and then decide where to position it, but Willow forestalled this plan. "So, Rupert," began the stunning redhead. "How do you suppose you got into the magic biz?"

"Uh, I have no idea." Willow blushed, presumably because she had just realized what an inane question that was. Rupert felt badly for her. Hoping to reduce her embarrassment, he added, "Per- perhaps, I mean, presumably, I have some affinity for, um, magic."

"No, I don't think so," his fiancée stated firmly. "I bet you're more of the paperwork guy." 

Although he was still uncertain that magic actually existed, Rupert felt quite affronted by this blunt statement. "I beg your pardon?"

"Oh, it's alright," she hastened to assure him. "I don't mind, really. There's no reason to apologize!"

"You've misunderstood me," he said tightly. "I want you to explain to me why you feel I am only useful in an administrative capacity."

"It's just, um... my intuition tells me that you aren't the magic guy." Rupert stared at her, and Anya rushed to explain. "I figure being a magic shop owner and a natural at the supernatural, I should trust my intuition."

"And what does your intuition tell you that **I** bring to our partnership," he asked stuffily.

"That's easy," Anya answered brightly. "You're ruggedly handsome."

Rupert's annoyance abruptly melted away, disarmed by her sweetness. Anya was blunt to the point of rudeness, but was also entirely charming. Rupert wouldn't have guessed that he was the sort of man to fall in love with a woman simply because she was adorable, but apparently he was. He smiled at her, and swore to himself that he would be more tolerant of her in the future. "Really? That's, uh–"

A car, honking loudly and obnoxiously from the street, ended their conversation. Joan once again took charge, dividing their group between the two taxis and directing the drivers to take them to the hospital. She seemed determined to find answers, and Rupert found himself trusting in her ability to do so. He admired her confidence and her leadership ability. But that wasn't all he felt. To his horror, Rupert realized that he found Joan extremely attractive as well. 

The blonde was much thinner than Anya was, but the intelligence and spirit she had shown thus far were every bit as arousing as Anya's gentle touch and bright enthusiasm. The Englishman's mind briefly flashed upon the photograph of Joan that he had found in his wallet. Once again, Rupert wondered about the significance of that picture. He only followed this line of thought for the **briefest** of moments, but it was enough to trigger terrible feelings of guilt. He was **engaged**, damnit, and he had no business thinking about anyone other than his fiancée. And why would he want to, anyway? After all, he never would have asked Anya to marry him if he didn't love her, or if he was in love with somebody else. At least, Rupert didn't **believe** that he would ever have done such a thing...

Somehow, Rupert knew that no matter how many answers they found at the hospital, he was never going to understand his life until he got his memory back.


	3. Chapter Two

Note: Some of the dialogue from this chapter is taken straight from a companion piece entitled "The Mayor's Legacy." If you didn't read it, the early morning caller was Spike.

Part Two

It was only a short drive to the hospital, but the uncomfortable silence that had fallen over the group in Rupert's cab made it seem very distant indeed. Dawn tried to break the stillness by singing, "The ants go marching one by one, hurrah, hurrah. The ants go marching one by–" After Anya and Joan glared her into silence, however, no one said anything further until they arrived at the hospital.

When they got to the hospital, Anya strode into the building without a second glance while Joan gave him an apologetic shrug. "Neither Dawn nor I have our wallets on us." Rupert shrugged himself, and then paid for the cab. He fought down a surge of annoyance when he realized that nobody had waited for him.

After paying the cabby, Rupert quickly jogged up to the emergency entrance to join his companions. Before he could call out to them, however, a security guard grabbed his arm. "Woah, slow down Mr. Giles! You aren't going to do your head any good by running."

"What-- You know my name?" Well this was unexpected. "Can you tell m–"

The guard wasn't listening to him. Instead, he was talking into a microphone on his lapel with great excitement. "Hey, guess what? Mr. Giles is here!" There was a brief pause, during which the guard looked Rupert over. "No, I don't think that will be necessary; he's walking under his own steam this time." This time? How often did he come into the emergency room? "Um, yeah. I'll tell him." The guard turned back to Rupert and smiled. "Why don't you sit down, Mr. Giles. Jorge will be out in a moment with a wheelchair for you."

"But I don't need that apparatus," Rupert objected hotly. "You said yourself that I was walking under my own steam,' whatever that means..."

"Head injuries are tricky, Mr. Giles. Nobody knows that better than you!" He did? How would he know that? "Besides, you've remained healthy and whole for months now, and people have missed you." 

The hospital staff missed him? What did that mean? Before he could ask, a short, stocky Latino man approached him. "Mr. Giles," he exclaimed happily. "It's been a while! How many times were you hit on the head this time?"

"I wasn't, um, none. I haven't been hit on the head at all... to my knowledge..."

Both men looked at him in surprise. The Hispanic orderly asked the question. "Then why are you here?"

"Um," Rupert stalled, suddenly realizing how stupid he was going to sound. "Well, you see, I, uh, seem to have lo- lost my memory."

The guard laughed heartily while the orderly pushed him down into the wheelchair. Within moments, Jorge was whisking him down the halls. He soon passed his fiancée and his fellow amnesia sufferers, but the orderly refused to stop for them. Everywhere he went, hospital personnel called out to him in delight, and they all asked about his head. Rupert wondered how many times he had come here before. Apparently owning a magic shop was a hazardous proposition.

Thanks to Jorge's skillful driving, Rupert found himself at the nurse's desk in no time. A large, middle-aged woman sat behind the desk, frowning at all and sundry. As soon as she saw Rupert, however, she broke into a beatific smile, one that slashed twenty years from her appearance. "Mr. Giles! We've been quite concerned about you! You've never been away from us for so long before." Rupert gave the nurse a sickly smile, wondering how he should respond to her enthusiasm. She pulled out a sheet of paper and began writing. "Let's see... You were mugged in the park, you didn't see your attackers, you were hit on the head repeatedly, and you believe yourself concussed. That about cover it?"

"No!" The nurse looked at him oddly, so he tried to quiet his voice. "Um, what I mean is, I wasn't mugged. At least, I don't think I was..." She was staring at him in disbelief now, and it was making him edgy. "I woke up in my shop with my fiancée and some customers. All of us appear to have lost our memories. I, I have no idea who I am, or what may have caused this, uh, memory loss."

The nurse frowned in confusion. "It sounds to me like the quantitative effect from multiple head injuries is finally starting to catch up with you. We did warn you about that, Mr. Giles." She frowned so fiercely at him that he felt like a naughty child. It made him even more nervous than he had been.

"Yes, but, uh, that sh- shouldn't have affected anyone else." He felt familiar fingers dancing along his arm, and realized that the others must have caught up with him. Or at least Anya had. "Here are my fellow sufferers. You, you can ask them, ah, yourself."

The nurse scowled at them, and then ordered them to follow her. She crowded the entire group into a small room and told them to wait for the doctor. Alexander and Willow jumped up on the examining table and began swinging their legs; the busty blonde girl stood beside them, trying to overcome her shyness so that she might talk to the redhead. Dawn began gliding around the room on the doctor's wheeled chair, bumping into walls and barely missing the adults in the room. Joan paced the room like a panther, picking up stray objects and setting them down without looking at them. Rupert bit down a scream, and wondered whether he associated with these people on a regular basis. He hoped that they were normally less irritating.

Hoping to regain his composure, Rupert pulled a chair into the corner–away from the younger people–and sat down. Anya promptly deposited herself upon his lap. Before he could complain, she sweetly told him, "There aren't enough chairs for us all." Rupert was annoyed... even more so when he felt his body responding to Anya's nearness. This earned him a seductive smile and a slight wiggle. He leaned in towards her ear and gave a nearly inaudible groan. 

Although Rupert should have been glad when the doctor walked in–this was a dangerous game they were playing, after all–he had to bite down a curse. He sent up a fervent prayer that the mystery would be solved quickly; he wanted to go home and reacquaint himself with his beautiful intended.

~*~*~

It didn't go quickly. Not at all. After nearly four hours of poking and prodding, the doctor released them with a shrug and an admittance of ignorance. Rupert wondered if his real self hated emergency rooms as much as he did, given the fact that he apparently came here on a regular basis. 

The trip hadn't been a complete loss, however. One of the interns recognized Joan; apparently her mother had died nearly a year before. A search for Joyce Summers' medical records revealed that Joan's name was actually Buffy, she and Dawn were indeed sisters, and the girls had a place to stay. Their address, somewhere on Revello Drive, matched the one on Tara's (for such was the name of the busty blonde) student identification card, so everyone deduced that they must be best friends. Rupert wondered at the wistful looks that Tara and Willow gave each other following this announcement.

Eventually they broke up into groups and got into three separate cabs. Alexander and Willow went to the address on the boy's driver's license; Buffy, Dawn, and Tara went to Revello Drive; and Rupert took Anya to the address listed on his resident alien card. They didn't speak during the cab ride, rather spending the entire time kissing and groping each other. It couldn't have been more than two miles from the hospital to their destination, but Rupert felt that it must have been the longest car ride of his life. (The fact that he could only remember two such rides did not decrease his certainty in the least.)

When the cab driver finally stopped, Rupert shoved a fistful of bills into the man's hand and jumped out. Anya immediately objected. "You gave him too much money. He should give some of it back!"

Rupert was annoyed. She was the one who had seemed to be in such a hurry. "Yes, but the man deserves a tip, **darling**."

"Not that much," she snapped. "Take one extra dollar for yourself, and give me all of the rest," she told the cab driver. The man snorted, did as he was told, and sped away. Rupert suspected that it wasn't altogether accidental when the cab went through a puddle of standing water and splashed water upon them. 

Anya began screaming at the departing cabby, which caused Rupert to sigh. He began patting down his pockets to find his housekeys, and came across a large piece of paper in the inside pocket of his jacket. Hoping that it might contain more information about his identity, he pulled it out... and received a shock. It was an airplane ticket on Global Airlines, going from Sunnydale, California (apparently his current location) to Los Angeles, and then on to Heathrow airport. The ticket was one-way, so he evidently had no intention of returning... even though he had a home, a business, and a fiancée here in the United States. Why would he do that? He certainly wouldn't go anywhere now, when he was so uncertain of everything (he had missed his flight in any case), but it made him question the conclusions that he had already reached. Was he a happy man or not?

Anya interrupted his ruminations. She came up behind him and slipped her arms around his chest, causing him to quickly put the ticket back in his pocket. "What do you have there?"

"Um, nothing. Just some, uh, paperwork for our, our store. You were right," he added with forced cheer, "I am apparently the one in charge of keeping the books." 

His voice sounded horribly false to Rupert, but Anya apparently didn't notice. Instead, she turned his head around to give him a deep and lingering kiss. "How about getting that door open, Rupie?"

"Rupie," Rupert snorted in irritation. "I'm quite certain that you don't call me Rupie'." Anya answered him with another mind-blowing kiss. "On second thought," Rupert said breathlessly, "I suspect that I permit you to call me anything you like." He opened the door, and conversation was soon at an end.

~*~*~

They made love until the sun began to rise, and yet Rupert felt that he didn't know anything more about his fiancée than he had when they woke up the previous evening. Other than the fact that she was extremely skilled in the bedroom. His last smug thought before he drifted off to sleep was that they were **both** highly experienced. That unexplained airplane ticket suggested that their relationship was not without its problems, but obviously their sex life was not at the root of their difficulty. At the moment, he couldn't believe that they were anything but perfectly happy; the languid comfort of spooning up behind her felt very much like contentment to him.

Rupert could not have been asleep for more than five minutes when the shrill ring of an old-fashioned telephone woke him up. "Let the machine get it," he sleepily muttered when Anya started to get up.

"How do you know you have a machine? It might be important, Rupert. Maybe one of the others have gotten back their memory." Very sensible of her. Rupert decided that Anya could handle it and that he could go back to sleep. Except he soon found that he couldn't, because Anya was shaking him. "It's for you, and it's **not** one of the others. Some English guy, like you."

"Please, Anya, there is no reason to shake me that hard."  


"Well, I want to know what's going on," she told him firmly. "If you think that it is alright to have your rude friends calling at all hours of the morning, you are very much mistaken!"

"Darling, please stop shaking me. I don't know any more than you do." She humphed at him, and he felt an irrational hatred of whomever was on the other end of the line. He had been happy and sated a few minutes ago, cuddling up with the woman he evidently loved, and now this same woman was shoving him out of his warm bed to talk to one of his "rude friends." This had better be good. He grabbed hold of the receiver, and tried to put a civil tone in his voice. "Um, hello. This is, uh--" Christ! What was his full name again? Oh, right. "Is Rupert Giles."

"'Bout bloody time," was his only answer. The caller did indeed have a British accent, but one that indicated a lower social class than his own. Rupert wondered how he knew that. In any case, Anya was correct; the caller was very rude. "Listen, I need you to bail me out of jail."

Rupert wasn't sure what he had expected, but that wasn't it. He paused for a long moment, trying to gather his sleepy thoughts into some kind of order. First things first: he needed to determine who this man was, and how much he knew about Rupert and his companions. He wondered how to phrase the question delicately, without giving too much away. He drew a blank, and then decided that he was too tired to think of anything subtle. "Who are you, and why exactly would I want to get you out of jail?"

"C'mon, Giles," the strange man whined.

"Giles?" Well, that was odd. Why would this man call him by his last name, as if Rupert were a public school student? Again, he decided that bluntness was his best method for solving this mystery. "Shouldn't you call me Mr. Giles? Or are we friends?" 

Rupert had hoped to gather information with that question, but the incarcerated man was apparently quite insulted by it. "Fine," he spat viciously, "you're right. We aren't friends, **Rupes**. But your Slayer is in my debt, which means that YOU owe me. And I'm collecting. Today. Drag your poncy arse down to the police station right now and get me out of here!"

Nothing about that sentence made much sense to Rupert. Slay her? What the hell did that mean? He decided to pursue the simplest matter first. "Um, I'm afraid that, uh, I'm not fa- familiar with the debt that you mentioned."

Now the man sounded very angry. "Glory beating the hell out me, Dawn up on a tower, me saving her while the Slayer took a swan dive... any of this ringing a bell, Watcher?"

Rupert's head was spinning now. Dawn was the teenager he had met this evening, so obviously she wasn't just some random customer. But that didn't explain the repeated use of the words "slay her," a term that sent a vague thrill of fear through him. He took a deep breath and tried to temporize. "Ahhh, not really. But, you see–"

"Oh, I see, Watcher," said the man, apparently in a fury. "I see *perfectly* well, you wanker." Wanker? Where did this lower-class sod get off calling him a wanker? "And you are going to pay, I can promise you that! Someday I *will* get this chip out of my head, and on that very day I'm going to rip your throat out. Count on it, mate."

Rupert was finding out new things about himself all the time. At that moment, he learned that he didn't take threats well. At all. "Is that a fact," he asked the man coldly. "I must confess that I am rather looking forward to that encounter. Do look me up after you get out of prison." Before the rude little bugger could respond, Rupert slammed the phone down on its hook.

Rupert felt the anger coming off him in waves, but Anya was oblivious to it. "So," she asked brightly, "what did you learn about us?"

"Excuse me?"

"That man who called," Anya began, "he asked for you. He obviously knew you. He must know things **about** you. Maybe he knows things about all of us! So, what did you learn?"

Rupert felt a flush of shame as he realized that Anya was right. He had had the perfect opportunity to learn more about them, and he had allowed his anger to distract him. Still, it hadn't been an utter waste. He ran the conversation back through his mind, trying to glean what information he could. "He kept saying slay her; I don't know what that means. And he called me Watcher,' which doesn't sound particularly nice, I must admit." This brought a lecherous grin to Anya's face, and Rupert couldn't help returning it. "He mentioned someone named Glory, who is evidently quite violent, and that he saved Dawn, presumably the girl from the shop. And he was, as you said, quite rude."

"So, is he coming over? Can we talk to him and learn more?"

"Um, well, that might be a bit of a problem," Rupert admitted sheepishly. "He was calling from jail, you see, and wanted me to bail him out."

"That's good," Anya declared. "That means he'll stay where he is until we've had a few more hours of sleep. And perhaps a bit more getting to know your fiancé' time."

Rupert grinned, and then kissed her, slowly and languorously. "That, my dear, is a capital plan."

"What capital," she teased. "I never know what you're talking about. Loo, shag, brolly, what the hell is all that?"

"What," Rupert asked solemnly, though the twinkle in his eyes gave him away. "There's no way that you could remember me saying any of those words."

"Oh, go to sleep, you brolly," she mumbled affectionately. 

Rupert chuckled happily, gathered Anya into his arms, and drifted back to sleep.


	4. Chapter Three

Spoiler: "Tabula Rasa." Spike didn't come to the Magic Box, vampires never attacked, and Willow's crystal was never broken. There is also a slight spoiler for "Quickening" – the Angel episode contemporary with TR — though this doesn't follow the episode exactly.

Part Three

They didn't awaken again until after ten, though it was closer to noon before they were ready to get dressed. And it was then that the day began to become difficult. 

"Rupert, where are my clothes?"

"Hmm?" Anya had done amazing things to him in their shower, and he wasn't feeling up to coherent speech yet.

"My clothes," she asked snappishly. "If we're engaged, then I'm sure that we must live together. It would be a waste of money to maintain two apartments. But I don't see any of my clothes here. Where are they?"

"Well, that's rather odd," Rupert admitted.

Anya wasn't finished, however. "And what about my birth control pills? You didn't have any condoms in your dresser, so I assumed that I was on birth control pills, but there aren't any in the bathroom."

For a moment, Rupert was annoyed. He had no more memories than she did; how the hell was he supposed to know? But then, the nature of the missing item struck him: birth control pills were somewhat important. No, try very important. In fact, birth control pills were critically important to condomless couples. Fighting down an incipient panic, Rupert thought quickly. To his amazement, he was able to pull up information that he would have sworn that he did not possess. "There are other methods for preventing pregnancies, are there not? Such as, uh, Norplant capsules? And, um, Depo Provera shots? Perhaps you use something like that."

"I hope you're right," Anya muttered darkly. 

"Of course I am," Rupert insisted with a confidence that he did not feel. "Considering how healthy our sex life is, condoms would not be the most cost efficient means for preventing pregnancy."

This last observation elicited a happy smile from his fiancée, but she still sounded uncertain when she asked, "What about my clothes...?"

"Well," he opined, "maybe this is a new engagement. Perhaps we haven't had time to combine our households yet. You're welcome to borrow some sweat pants and a shirt in the meantime." He went to his dresser and pulled out some clothes without looking at them. He hoped they matched. "Here, why don't you wear these, while I go and make breakfast?"

Anya scowled, but accepted the proffered clothing. He went downstairs to the small kitchen he had noticed the night before, and began opening cupboards at random. He quickly found a frying pan and a spatula, and then opened his refrigerator to pull out some eggs and hopefully some sausages as well. It was completely empty and immaculately clean. Rupert stared at the refrigerator in confusion before suddenly remembering the ticket he had found last night. He slammed the door closed, and began to think.

His flat was fully furnished, and his clothes were still here. (Though, looking down at his dark sweater disdainfully, Rupert had to wonder whether these were the nicest items in his wardrobe.) What did that mean, that all perishable items were gone but his personal belongings were still here? And why were all of Anya's things missing? Was he planning on making a lengthy visit in England, with a return sometime in the unscheduled future? Or had he intended to send for his things after he reached London? And what had he intended to do about Anya?

Anya... Rupert decided that he needed to stop wondering about his pre-amnesia plans, and instead concentrate upon the here and now. What should he do about Anya? Should he tell his fiancée that their relationship apparently wasn't working out? Didn't she have enough to worry about as it was, without fretting that he was going to leave her as soon as he got his memory back? And was he still going to leave now, given their unusual circumstances? They had been given another chance, a blank slate,' as it were. All of their problems (whatever they were) had just been erased; shouldn't he take advantage of that? Coming to a sudden decision, Rupert called up the stairs. "Darling, I'm afraid that there is nothing edible down here." Which wasn't a lie... exactly. "I suggest that we go out for breakfast."

"We can't go anywhere," floated down the anxious voice of his intended. "I look ridiculous in these clothes; I can't be seen in public!"

"Perhaps I have a phone number for one of the others. If so, I'll call and ask if you can borrow some clothes; if not, we'll stop at a department store before we go anywhere else." An incomprehensible mutter–which he chose to take as agreement–met this suggestion, so Rupert sat down at the desk and began looking for an address book. The neatly typed list of phone numbers taped to his telephone made this search unnecessary. 

Rupert stared at the list of names and numbers, and wondered who those people were and what they meant to him. There were five names, two of which he recognized. Buffy, the skinny blonde girl who originally called herself Joan, was the first name on the list. Below her was Willow, Alexander's redheaded girlfriend. Willow's name and number had been crossed out. Were they no longer friends? But if that was the case, then why had she been at his magic store last night? Below Willow was the oddest name he had ever heard, Xander, and then Wesley. After Wesley there was an overseas number which was labeled, "Travers, pillock." The last brought a smile to his face, even as Rupert wondered why he would keep the name and number of a person he obviously disliked. 

Rupert was tempted to call Xander first, to see if he (or she) could tell him anything about himself, but decided that he needed to acquire some clothes for Anya first. He dialed Buffy's number, nervously doodling while waiting for someone to pick up. He didn't need to wait for long. "Hello?"

"Um, hello. This is Rupert Giles. Am I speaking to Buffy, or to Dawn?"

"Tara, actually," came the shy, quiet response. "I, I can get Bu- Buffy, if you like."

"I'm not sure that is necessary," Rupert responded kindly. "I, er, need a small favor. Anya doesn't keep any clothes at my flat, and I was wondering, uh, that is, I was hoping–"

"That you could borrow some of mine?" Rupert could hear the smile in her voice, and decided that he should make an effort to get to know her. She sounded extraordinarily nice. "I think Dawn's clothes might fit her better, but we'll bring something in any case. Should we meet you at the magic store?"

"Yes. That would be, um, that would be very kind of you. We'll see you soon." Rupert went over to the stairs. "Tara promised to bring an outfit to the store. Are you ready to go, darling?"

"Just a minute, Rupie." Rupert shuddered at the moniker; somehow, he doubted that he had ever or would ever welcome that saccharine nickname. To distract himself from saying something harsh, he began jotting down the names and numbers on his telephone. He had just finished "Wesley's" number when he felt familiar arms wrap around his chest. "I'm ready to go, Rupert."

"Splendid!" Rupert turned around, and blinked in surprise. Anya looked like a child playing dress-up; his clothes were far too big for her. Something in his fiancée's face told him, however, that laughter would be unwise at this point at time, so he manfully fought it down. He cleared his throat, and prayed that he could speak without chuckling. "Let's be off then, shall we?" Anya gave him a sweet smile, and Rupert felt rewarded for his forbearance. She grabbed his hand, and they headed out the door.

~*~*~

Rupert was quite proud of himself. He had been in the Magic Box for almost half an hour, and had yet to scream at any of his companions. It was a small group, but they did seem capable of making an extraordinary amount of noise. Rupert wondered what he would normally do in order to make them shut the hell up. 

Part of his irritation came from the fact that he felt eyes upon him, observing him with detached amusement. He looked around, and found himself staring into the beautiful hazel eyes of the skinny blonde, Joan. No, not Joan, **Buffy**. The blonde caught him looking back at her, and she gave him a quirky smile, as if to say that she found all this wrangling as intolerable as he did. Rupert couldn't help but grin back at her. A hand digging into his thigh told him that Anya had noticed this silent communication, and was not pleased by it. He jerked his attention back to Alexander with a start of shame.

"–that's all I'm saying," the young man finished huffily. Willow was shaking her head in disagreement, and Dawn was scowling. Rupert wondered what the boy had said to garner these reactions, but mostly he hoped no one would ask him for his opinion. He had no desire to admit that he had been zoning out for an indeterminate amount of time.

Oddly enough, it was Tara who spoke up. "I, I, I think th- that it **could** work. We, um, I mean Rupert and Anya, could, could, uh–" Tara abruptly stopped, looking very much like a wary animal searching for an escape.

"Tara and Alex are right," Willow said firmly. Dawn glared at Willow, clearly angry to have lost her ally. Rupert was amused to note that Willow was willing to stand against her boyfriend, but would change her stance without hesitation to support the shy blonde girl. He wondered whether either girl was aware of the chemistry he sensed between them. "Rupert and Anya can do magic to fix this, but we'll need to help them."

"What," he yelped. This is what he got for not paying attention; he was now expected to pull a bloody rabbit out of his hat–literally–and solve matters single-handedly. "Shouldn't we be looking for other solutions first?"

"Like what," Alexander demanded hotly. "Doctors can't help us. There isn't a scientific explanation for what happened to us, so we're not going to get a scientific solution. Magic is our only option."

"As loathe as I am to admit it, you might be correct. It is possible that magic is our only option. But," Rupert hardened his voice here, in response to Alexander's glee, "not magic as performed by us. We have no idea what we are doing, and could easily make things worse. We should try to learn about our other selves and see if we can find anything to guide us. If nothing else, we should try to contact people known to us to see if any of them know enough magic to perform the requisite spell."

"What are you suggesting," Alexander asked. "That we should all go home and dig through whatever personal files we can find? I don't feel good about doing that. I mean, I know the guy who owns that apartment is really me, but he **feels** like a total stranger. Going through his stuff... I don't know. Wouldn't that make me a sociopath?"

Rupert hadn't thought about it in those terms before, but he could see Alexander's point. Still, he wasn't about to give up. The idea of experimenting with magic at random filled him with a vague terror. "How about this? I copied down two phone numbers from my flat; perhaps we could call them and see if one of them might be able to help us."

Alexander grunted noncommittally, but Rupert took that for acquiescence. He quickly dialed the first number, the one labeled Xander,' as the others grouped around him. He held the phone out for all of them to hear. After four rings, the answering machine picked up. Everyone stared at Alexander in surprise, because the voice on the machine was clearly his.

_Hi. I'm sorry, but we're out at the moment_. There was the muffled sound of a woman's voice, and then a high-pitched squeak. _Or we're having sex right now. In either case, we can't talk to you, so just leave a message. Bye._

Alexander, who apparently went by the rather odd name of Xander,' was grinning from ear to ear; though he had enough delicacy to keep quiet. His girlfriend was less amused by the graphic message that they had just heard. As soon as the feminine voice had wafted through the telephone, Willow had blushed a deep crimson. Indeed, she was still red enough to clash with her hair. Tara was turned away from the group, but the rigid way she held herself suggested that she was even unhappier about the message than Willow was. 

Once again, it was Buffy who cut through the awkwardness and brought people back to the matter at hand. "Well, the only thing we learned there was that Alex likes to be called Xander. That's a cool name, by the way," she added as an aside to the young man. "Maybe we'll have better luck with your other lead. What was it again? Walter?"

"Wesley. It's worth a try. At least we know that he can't be one of us." Rupert dialed the number, which was long distance, and tried to figure out how he would initiate the conversation. He hoped that this Wesley knew him well, and would forgive him if he sounded like an idiot. 

A woman answered the phone, speaking in a dizzying rush. "Angel Investigations: we help the hopeless. Make it quick; this is a bad time."

Rupert blinked in surprise, and then took a deep breath. "Um, yes, hello. Could I please speak to, to Wesley? It's, uh, rather important."

"Jeez, Giles," came the annoyed response. "Nice to talk to you too! Yeah, I'm doing well. No callbacks recently, but the work here keeps me busy. Thanks **so** much for asking!" Rupert cringed at the brutal sarcasm, and offered up a silent prayer that his other self didn't have too many dealings with this woman. He noticed Buffy looking at him with a mixture of amusement and compassion, and he gave her a grateful smile. Meanwhile, the anonymous woman was yelling, "Wes! It's Giles. Says it's important."

Within seconds, a clipped male voice came on the line. The man was British, like him, and sounded like he was from a similar background. "Hello, Mr. Giles. I'm afraid that you've called at an extremely inopportune time. Darla is in the middle of giving birth at the moment, and it looks like it is up to me to help her." As if on cue, a woman's voice cried out in the background. She was clearly in pain. "Unless this is **very** urgent, I would prefer to call you back."

Although he was anxious for answers, Rupert found himself caving. "Yes, yes, of course. Whenever it's convenient for you." Five pairs of eyes glared at him for his cowardice, while one pair of hazel eyes nodded approvingly. Rupert was grateful to Buffy for her understanding, but felt that he should go with the majority. "Howev-"

"Excellent. Unfortunately, it may be a week or two before I am able to call you back." Wesley's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, and Rupert was forced to bring the phone to his ear to hear anything at all. "That matter we discussed? The Nyazian Prophesy? I'm afraid that it is still very much an issue. I may be out of touch while I attempt to find a solution." 

"Yes, but–" Rupert was again interrupted, this time by a click and a dial tone. "The berk hung up on me," he muttered incredulously.

"So, I guess we're all out of leads," Alexander -- no, Xander -- cowed. "Time to start playing with the magic."

"Well, there is that guy from this morning," Anya said in a bored voice.

Dawn, Xander, and Willow all demanded to know "what guy," while Rupert fought the urge to smack himself. He should have thought of his sunrise caller himself. The older man held up his hands until the others quieted down, and then gave them an abbreviated summary of his early morning conversation. He blushed when he admitted that he hadn't thought to get the name of his non-friend, but was quick to point out that the man was still waiting for them at the police station.

As Rupert would have guessed, Buffy was the first to react. "It does sound like this guy can help, though I'm not sure if he will. Still, it wouldn't hurt to find out. I found a car in the employee parking lot, but it doesn't look like it will hold more than two people. I would suggest that Rupert and Anya go down to the police station while the rest of us start looking into spells."

"I don't like that plan," Anya frowned. "I want to stay here and watch the store, and take people's money." She flashed a sudden smile in Rupert's direction, and he knew that he would agree to whatever she asked. "Can I stay here, Rupie?"

Rupert cleared his throat nervously. "Of course, Darling. Um, Buffy, would you show me where our car is? And, perhaps you might, uh, like to accompany me?"

Anya obviously hadn't expected that she reaction. She scowled and started to protest, but Xander grabbed her arm and led her over to the books. Rupert could feel her glare boring into his back as he took Buffy by the arm and headed out of the shop.


	5. Chapter Four

Author's Notes: The original characters in this chapter were introduced in a stand-alone fic entitled "The Mayor's Legacy." If you didn't read that story, all you need to know is that Sergeant Mahoney dusted Spike in a, erm, rather **unusual** fashion, and that everyone in the squad room is aware of this fact. A huge thank-you goes out to Taryn, for helping me with Mahoney's dialog. She is truly the queen of innuendo and double-entendre.

Disclaimer: Joss may not know what he has in these characters, but he knows that he owns the copyright to them. Sadly, I know it too... They're not mine, and never will be. sob

Part Four

Buffy took Rupert out to the car that she had found, a sporty red BMW. He was surprised; it didn't look like anything he could see himself driving. He took out his keys nevertheless, and discovered that he did indeed own the vehicle. Perhaps he had bought it for Anya... though the fact that the seats and mirrors were all adjusted for him cast suspicion on that comforting theory.

"Um," Rupert began hesitantly, "I suppose we will need to ask somebody for the location of the police station."

"No need," Buffy said brightly. "I bought a map of the city this morning." With that, she pulled a map out of jacket pocket; the name on the map matched that from his plane ticket: Sunnydale, California.

"Good thinking," Rupert said, as he began scanning the map. "I've, uh, been meaning to tell you something." She looked at him curiously, but nodded for him to go on. "I have been most impressed with your ingenuity ever since we woke up. You seem to have an uncanny ability to see what needs to be done, as well as the leadership skills to ensure that it **is** done."

Buffy blushed happily. "Thanks, Rupert." She looked thoughtful and gave him an appraising look. "But you know, the name Rupert? It doesn't really suit you at all."

Rupert grinned at her, highly amused. "No? Then what would you suggest?"

"I have no idea," she admitted, "but Rupert is kind of a sissy name, and you don't strike me as a sissy. Pretty far from it, in fact."

Rupert wondered whether he should be insulted by her criticism of his name, or pleased by her praise of him. He opted for the latter, and his grin broadened further. He then turned thoughtful. "Actually, you may be correct. Although he admitted that he wasn't my friend, the man this morning called me Giles.' And that equally rude woman from the detective agency also called me Giles. Perhaps that is the name I normally go by."

Buffy smiled at him, and said, "Giles. Just Giles. I like it!" 

Rupert wasn't sure that he cared for just Giles' at all, but somehow, it felt **right** to hear this woman say it. His smile turned shy, and he tried to turn the discussion to another topic. To his surprise, it was easy to do, and conversation flowed easily all the way to the police station. 

Although neither knew very much about him or herself, they shared what they could, and Rupert enjoyed himself thoroughly. In fact, he spent more time talking with Buffy during the short car ride than he had in the long hours of getting to know your fiancée time' that he had spent with Anya the night before and that morning. He wasn't sure what that said about him, but he was quite certain that he didn't like what it suggested about his relationship with the woman he supposedly loved. 

The ride was far too short for his taste, and Rupert sighed unhappily as he parked the car and turned off the ignition. He would have preferred to continue to enjoy Buffy's company, but they were here for a reason. Acting on impulse, Rupert tried to open the car door for her, but Buffy had already jumped out by the time he walked around. Undeterred, he gently grabbed her elbow and steered her inside. If their destination and circumstances hadn't been so bizarre, it would have felt like a date. Appalled at himself for thinking that, Rupert dropped her elbow as if it were a live coal. Buffy gave him an undecipherable look, and he blushed in embarrassment. 

Mentally he called himself an idiot, a pillock, and every other name that he could think of. He was particularly disgusted because he didn't know why he was cursing himself: for being unfaithful to Anya in his mind, or for being too cowardly to move beyond mental infidelity. 

~*~*~

When they arrived at the police station, Buffy immediately headed for the counter. Rupert trailed along in her wake, and concentrated on **not** noticing the enticing way she walked. When she got to the counter, Buffy coughed to gain the attention of the tall man working there. He wore his hair in a crewcut, and to say that he was not particularly good looking would be the kindest thing one could say about him, but he was evidently in charge. And he knew it. He turned, gave Buffy a contemptuous sneer, and asked, "You want something?"

Rupert grimaced at the rude tone. "No, we thought we would just come in here in order that we might waste your time." Buffy glared at him for his lack of helpfulness, and Rupert blushed in shame.

Buffy looked at the man's nametag, and then gave him a sweet smile. "Yes we do, Sgt. Mahoney. We're looking for someone who was arrested last night." 

Mahoney grunted, and then began flipping through papers. "Name?"

"Uh, see, that's kind of a problem," said Buffy.

The desk sergeant was giving Buffy a disgusted look, so Rupert decided it was time to break in. "I know this will sound unbelievable, but we have, erm, lost our memories."

The officer shrugged. "Well, it is Sunnydale," he observed, seemingly out of the blue.

Rupert was completely nonplussed by that non-sequitor. "Um, yes. Quite. In any case, I received a call very early this morning from a man asking me to bail him out of jail. He was extremely rude, so I hung up on him. It has occurred to me, however, that he might be instrumental in our quest to regain our memories. So it is therefore essential that we find him."

"Okay. Following you so far. So, who's the guy?"

"Unfortunately he didn't give his name," Rupert admitted. "He just assumed that I would know who he was. He was British, sounded uneducated, and was–as I mentioned earlier–extremely impolite."

"English, stupid, and rude? A bit of a blowhard? Arrested last night?" Mahoney shuffled through his papers again, but idly, as if he was only doing so for the sake of appearances. Obviously, he knew exactly which prisoner Rupert wanted. "Sounds like William de Sangre."

Rupert grinned. Could it really be that easy? He glanced over at Buffy, and saw that she was beaming. He then turned back to Sgt. Mahoney and said, "Excellent. We would like to bail Mr. de Sangre out of jail as soon as possible. I assume his bail has been set already?"

"I'm afraid not," Mahoney oozed, not looking regretful at all. "There was no need to set bail as the owner of the pet store decided against pressing charges. He got off around 7:30 this morning." An extremely young officer choked at that, and the desk sergeant shot him an indecipherable look. He turned back to Rupert and continued, "It's just as well, really. You wouldn't have found him in a very good mood; Mr. de Sangre was very frustrated when you didn't come for him. He really wanted to be released, and the fact that you didn't do that for him? Well, let's just say that it was hard for him to swallow." This last was said with the barest hint of a smile, highlighting the fact that his concern for the absent prisoner was patently false.

Rupert could see that there was more to this story than was immediately apparent, but the only matter that concerned him was de Sangre's whereabouts. He narrowed his eyes at the sergeant and asked, "Do you know where he went after he left here? It is very important that we find him."

"I'm sorry, sir, but I don't. The only thing he left behind was a pile of ashes. I hate smokers, don't you," he asked blandly.

The younger officer was now goggling at his superior, and Rupert was starting to become quite curious as to why. But of course, he could hardly ask the man what he was hiding. He contented himself with mildly observing, "Yes, smoking is an unpleasant habit. But are you quite certain that you don't have any more information as to where he might have gone after he left the police station?"

"No sir. I'm sorry, but that's all I've got for ya. I did hear him say that he couldn't wait to blow this joint." Mahoney gave a small, unpleasant smile. "I wouldn't worry too much about your friend, however. He seemed to have a good head... on his shoulders." This bit of compassion seemed out of character for the staid officer. The younger man evidently thought so as well, for he barked out a short laugh and then ran out of the room.

Rupert couldn't shake the conviction that Mahoney knew more than he was saying, but there didn't seem to be any means of gathering additional information from him. He shook the loathsome man's hand and said, "Well, I thank you for your time. Have a good day."

"Yeah, whatever," the sergeant grunted. "And good luck on that memory thing."

"Yeah, whatever," Buffy muttered quietly. Rupert coughed to hide a chuckle. The sound of the crass officer singing Dust in the Wind' followed them out the door.

~*~*~

"That cop was hiding something," Buffy proclaimed with disgust. "He **so** knows where our guy went."

Because the light was red, Rupert spared a glance in her direction. "I'm not certain that he did know where de Sangre is right now, but I agree that he was hiding something."

Buffy scowled, and Rupert quickly turned his attention back to traffic. The blonde had a truly ferocious look on her face, and he was glad that **he** had never made her angry, at least not to his knowledge. "If there hadn't been so many cops around, I would have beat it out of him." Rupert chuckled, but Buffy insisted, "I'm serious!"

"I'm sure you are," he said condescendingly, "but that sergeant was a very large man."

"So were the guys who attacked me on the way home from the hospital last night," Buffy responded, "but I totally kicked their asses. I'm like a superhero or something!"

Rupert turned to stare at Buffy, dumbfounded. This caused the car behind him to honk, and Rupert belatedly realized that the light had turned green. He turned his head back to the road with a start, but his mind remained with the petite blonde sitting next to him. The startlingly small girl who claimed to be a superhero. Buffy obviously noticed his skepticism, because she said, "You can ask Dawn or Tara if you don't believe me."

"I'm not doubting your word, Buffy," he assured her. "But that is an extraordinary statement. I'm not sure what to make of it."

"I'm not sure either," Buffy admitted. "But these really strange looking guys with yellow eyes and bumpy faces jumped out at us, and I totally put them down." She hesitated for a moment, and then slowly continued. "I think they, that is, they seemed to be... uh, vampires."

"Vampires!" Rupert chuckled for a moment, but then stopped. His first reaction had been a categorical assertion that vampires and superheroes were mythical, but then he recalled his similar declaration about magic. Magic, which was, apparently, the only explanation for their current predicament. Trying to be open-minded, Rupert offered, "We should, uh, research vampires at the magic store. We could probably do that simultaneously with our quest for a spell to give us back our memories."

"Thank-you, Giles," Buffy breathed gratefully. "I would really like to know that I'm not crazy." 

Rupert glanced at her again, and saw that she was beaming at him. Her smile was amazingly bright, and his heart pounded in a way that should have been reserved for his fiancée. He blushed in embarrassment, which prompted a similar reaction from Buffy. The rest of the ride passed in an uncomfortable silence, standing in stark contrast to the easy rapport they had established on the way to the police station.

~*~*~

When Buffy and Rupert entered the Magic Box, Anya and Willow were screaming at each other. Every attempt to resolve their disagreement simply led to more things to argue about. Buffy mentioned her encounter with a vampire (if that was what her attacker had actually been) and chaos erupted again. Finally, Rupert had had enough. "I think that we are all too tired to pursue either of these matters at the moment. I would suggest that everyone take a break, and we'll come back after dinner nice and refreshed."

Willow scowled at Anya once more for good measure, and then turned towards Rupert. "Yes, but which direction should we go in once everyone is refreshed?"

"Despite my initial skepticism, it has become clear that our memory loss must be the result of a magic spell." Rupert studiously ignored Alex's--no Xander's--shout of triumph. "When we return, we will systematically go through all books that appear to deal with the human mind. After we exhaust those, we will expand our search to all spells that can be placed upon another person." Rupert slowly turned towards around, looking each young person in the eyes. "We won't stop researching until we find a solution to our dilemma. And as long as we all work together, I anticipate that we will find a counter spell with relative alacrity."

The girls were all nodding with various degrees of thoughtfulness, but Xander looked confused. Willow grinned at him and translated, "Go to dinner. Come back, willing to work hard. Be a team player, and we'll have our memories back in no time."

Xander grinned brightly, and the tension in the room suddenly dissolved. "Dinner? Don't have to tell me twice! You coming, ladies?"

"Yes, all of you need to leave our shop," Anya declared tactfully. "I want to spend time with my fiancée." Buffy and Xander both frowned at this statement, but neither said anything. They simply left, promising to return within a few hours.

Once the store was empty, Rupert began tidying up books and supplies. The others had made quite a mess while he and Buffy had been at the police station, which was just one of the issues that Anya and Willow had fought over during his absence. His and Buffy's absence. 

Rupert found himself pondering the mystery of his feelings for the hundredth time in the past two days. How could he have such strong feelings for Buffy when he was engaged to another woman? It didn't make any sense. He needed his memory back, as soon as possible. If that took magic, then he would overcome his anxiety and do magic. But first, he needed to put things in order, so that he might expedite their search for a solution. Telling himself that he needed to focus on one thing at a time, he emptied his mind of unanswerable questions and concentrated upon the quiet simplicity of basic housekeeping. His focus shattered, however, when Anya suddenly broke the silence. "This must be nice for us."

Rupert lifted an eyebrow at her in confusion. "Sorry?"

Anya looked embarrassed as she fumbled through an explanation. "I mean... I know there's the vampire problem, and our memory loss, and all that, but still... to spend this time together alone? Must be nice," she finished wistfully.

He was busy **not** thinking of another woman, and his fiancée was thinking about the nature of their relationship? Gods, he was a bastard. He may not know many things about her, but instinctively he knew that she deserved better than him. Hoping to make things right, he stuttered out, "Uh, yes, yes, um, I'm sure that's right." 

Yes, he was definitely a bastard. Rupert was both relieved and saddened when he realized that Anya hadn't picked up on that fact yet.


	6. Chapter Five

Part Five

After he finished cleaning up the store, Rupert ignored Anya's sweet attempt at seduction and threw himself into research instead. What he found was fascinating. It turned out that vampires were quite, quite real. So were zombies, werewolves, incubi, succubi, and everything else he'd ever dreaded was under his bed, but told himself couldn't be by the light of day. They were **all** real. And for whatever reason, he had collected books upon all of them. As the trip to the hospital had suggested, his non-amnesiac self was much more than a simple shopkeeper. 

A small bell over the door tinkled, and Rupert jerked himself out of the book that he was currently reading. The reinforcements were here. Rupert decided that he would continue to investigate vampires and supernatural creatures, while setting Xander and the five girls to researching memory spells. After he got the others settled, he went back to his own volume. 

This book seemed to suggest that vampires had a natural foe, someone named a Slayer. Oddly enough, Slayers were always short-lived girls, usually in their teens, who were preternaturally strong. Although Buffy was clearly older than the average Slayer, the superhuman strength that she had claimed to use against the "strange men with bumpy faces and yellow eyes" (a description that fit perfectly with the pictures in his books) could only belong to a Slayer.

Slayer. The word reverberated through him, touching something deep and primal. He was so distracted by this feeling that he nearly forgot that this was not the first time he had heard the word since he awakened. Now that he replayed the conversation in his head, Rupert realized that de Sangre had mentioned the word "Slayer" several times. More specifically, the missing man had used a second-person possessive, referring to **Rupert's** Slayer. **His** Slayer; what did that mean? And de Sangre had had a name for him as well, had called him--

"Ah," Rupert exclaimed around the pencil in his mouth. He removed it and called louder, "Ah! Buffy! Come here! I have figured out who you are."

This shout was enough to gather the attention of everyone. They grouped around him eagerly, with Buffy standing directly behind him. In her excitement, she blew a gust of air on to the back of his neck and it went straight to his groin. Anya evidently noticed, for she rudely shoved Buffy out of her way and began massaging Rupert's shoulders. He wished that she'd stop, but didn't have the heart to say so.

"So Giles," came Buffy's bright voice, as she plopped down in the seat next to him. "Whatcha got?"

"You were correct; the men who attacked you last night **were** vampires." Rupert waited for the murmurs of disbelief and amazement that met this statement to die down before continuing. "Furthermore, you are correct in saying that you are a superhero'." Buffy's eyebrow quirked in surprise at this. "You are apparently The Slayer and it is your sacred duty to rid the world of vampires and other creatures of the night. Furthermore, if I understood de Sangre correctly, I am your Watcher. This means that I assist you in your battles against evil, by training and guiding you." He looked her directly in the eyes, ignoring the presence of the others. "You and I are partners."

"That's kind of nice," Buffy murmured quietly.

"Yeah, it's nice and all," Anya said loudly, "but it's not helping us with our memory problem at all. Now that you know that vampires are real, Rupie, why don't you help the rest of us with something important."

Rupert sighed unhappily, but he had to agree. He collected all the books concerning vampires and quickly reshelved them. He then grabbed a magic book and sat at the other end of the table from his fiancée. The fact that that chair was next to Buffy was quite, quite coincidental.

~*~*~

Several hours later, everyone agreed to call it a night. Anya wanted Rupert to come home with her right away, but he was oddly reluctant to do so. He had intended to just stay at the shop and do more research after the others left, but Anya's stringent protests soon made him the focus of everyone's attention. Blushing furiously, Rupert tried to think of a legitimate excuse to avoid spending time with his fiancée. Suddenly, it occurred to him that he **had** such an excuse, and that it had the merit of being true. "I can't go home right now, Anya. I must go to the cemetery with Buffy."

Anya was confused. "Why do you need to go with Buffy? What about me? I wanted to go home and have sex with you. Why wouldn't you want that too? Unless—"

"NO," Rupert interrupted emphatically. "**Don't** finish that sentence." Rupert felt six pairs of curious eyes on him, and he flushed even deeper than before. He ran his hands through his hair as he tried to collect his thoughts again. "Based upon the books I read earlier, it is clear that Buffy is the Vampire Slayer and that I am her Watcher. It, uh, seems to me that Buffy's responsibility to protect the world continues whether she has her memory or not. By the same logic, my responsibility to **watch** her continues. Buffy and I should go to the graveyard and see if we can find any evil fiends to, um, Slay."

"And how do we do that?" Despite the words, Buffy's tone was light and happy; clearly she was anxious to put her powers to use.

Deciding to ignore his curious audience, Rupert turned towards the Slayer (**his** Slayer) and focused only on her. "Apparently, decapitation and a stake through the heart both kill a vampire instantly. Earlier I noticed that there many weapons in the shop... including a large number of wooden stakes. I would guess that the stakes are your weapon of choice." Rupert paused self-consciously before continuing, "I pi- picked up a sword, and it felt, uh, **right** to me." Actually, he had been playing with the sword, but they didn't need to know that. "I am reasonably certain that I have some degree of proficiency with swordcraft, and that I would be an asset to you."

"Cool," Buffy grinned. "Let's go then! The rest of you should go home and get a good night's sleep, so we can kick research butt tomorrow!"

Within minutes, Watcher and Slayer collected their weapons and left. Anya glared so fiercely at his retreating back that his shoulder blades continued to itch several blocks away.

~*~*~

Rupert and Buffy fought four vampires that night, each Slaying two. Buffy made the first kill of the night, much to her delight. As she watched the evil creature fall to dust, a huge smile slowly crept across her face, and she said, "That was COOL!" Rupert probably wouldn't have characterized his reaction in the same fashion, but he had to admit that he enjoyed watching her smile that way. 

In between moments of mortal danger, they talked. Just as he had noticed that afternoon when they went to the police station together, he found it easy to talk to her. And he found his enjoyment of her company extending to a physical reaction. There was a lightness to her spirit that he found far more alluring than all of Anya's gentle touches. 

Thinking of Anya brought forth an already familiar sense of guilt, and a deep sigh. Buffy looked at him quizzically. "What's that for, oh Watcher-of-mine?"

"You know," Rupert answered thoughtfully, "I'm not sure that I care for that title. It reminds me too much of Chance the gardener from Being There'."

Buffy scrunched up her face in confusion. "Chant the what of being where?"

Rupert shrugged. "A character from a Peter Sellers' movie. It doesn't matter much."

"Peter Sellers! Pink Panther' movies! I love those!" Buffy look of confusion returned. "How did I know that?"

"And how do I know that I loathe them," Rupert asked in return. "I'm very confused about the nature of the spell we're under. I've noticed before that we all seem to retain bits of cultural knowledge, including familiarity with famous people, but we are completely ignorant of everyone that we have actually met. Moreover, all of us still possess the skills to perform tasks that we were able to do before, such as drive a car, or read foreign languages, or handle a sword... but we don't **know** which skills we possess until we actually try to do them. This isn't simple amnesia; the spell is very select in the knowledge that it has taken from us, namely everything of a personal nature."

"_Tabula rasa_," Buffy murmured quietly. Rupert was astonished that she was thinking along the same lines as he, but she evidently misunderstood his expression, for she hastened to elaborate. "It means blank slate.' It's like, we're still books, exactly like we were before, but now all the pages are empty. We're just like we were before, but now we don't have any past experiences to influence or guide us."

"So which is more real," Rupert asked intently. Off of Buffy's look, Rupert tried to elaborate. "Do our experiences define us (which would mean that we are fabrications of this spell) or do we have core personalities that have been altered by our experiences (which would make our other selves the fabrications)?"

Buffy gave him a hard look. "You're talking about a nature versus nurture question, aren't you?" Rupert shrugged, and then inclined his head slightly. "Well... I'd say that right now we are the people that we **should** be. Maybe Xander is normally subdued, but clearly he **should** be a clown. Maybe Willow has learned to get along with people, but her natural instinct is to be a bit of a control freak. And maybe Dawn can normally pretend to be reasonable, but her natural state is to be a whiny brat." This last was said with a scowl on her face; clearly something had occurred between the sisters earlier in the evening that still rankled.

Thinking of his relationship with Anya, Rupert asked, "And what if we notice problems in our non-amnesiac lives? Are they still problems to people who have been molded by experiences that we know nothing about? And do we have the right to influence those other people just because we believe ourselves to be the essence of who we should be?"

Buffy turned to give him a searching look, but was distracted by the arrival of three vampires. She never did answer his question, something for which Rupert was profoundly grateful. 

~*~*~

"I don't think we've figured things out the right way."

Startled, Rupert turned towards the young man sitting beside him and tried to decipher his meaning. It had been an exhausting three days, long hours spent at the shop in a blur of research and uncomfortable conversations, so he knew that he wasn't at his brightest... but still. Xander had been sitting silently for hours, ever since the women had all left to see if they could find acquaintances around town, and Rupert couldn't begin to fathom the thought processes that had initiated that random comment. "Um, figured out what, exactly?"

"You know," his companion responded, "everything. Anything."

"I don't believe that we **have** figured out anything," Rupert responded testily. "Hence the research."

"We've figured out the group dynamics," Xander responded, just as testily. "We've decided who belongs with who. I just don't think we've figured any of it out right."

Rupert's first instinct was to make a sarcastic comment (starting with a critique of the boy's grammar), but he restrained himself. Xander was articulating a topic that he had been struggling with himself ever since his night in the graveyard with Buffy. Anya was quite happy with him, but he was becoming more and more convinced everyday that **he** was not happy with **her**. He knew that he was an idiot for feeling this way: Anya was intelligent, beautiful, had a radiant smile, and a quirky sense of humor. He enjoyed her company, and the sex was terrific. Really, quite, quite exceptional. Only a fool wouldn't love her. A fool such as himself. So, Rupert swallowed his automatic snipe, and nodded at Xander to continue. "What, exactly, do you feel that we have misunderstood?"

"Let's start with Willow and me. There is **something** there, a lot of **somethings** in fact, and I'm pretty certain that I love her. But there is no way in hell that I'm **in** love with her, if you know what I mean. There's absolutely no chemistry there. Zip, zilch, nada." Xander frowned, obviously remembering something unpleasant. "I mean, have you taken a look at Willow? She's beautiful! A knockout even! And that body—"

"Yes, well, I don't believe you need to go into that," Rupert muttered uncomfortably.

"See, the thing is, I think I do. She's HOT, and yet, the sex was a big ole nothing." Xander obviously saw something in Rupert's face that he didn't care for, because he was quick to add, "Oh, I performed, don't get me wrong! Nothing wrong with **me**, that's for sure! It's just... there just wasn't any real attraction there. She's like my sister, or, or something. I don't think that we're supposed to be together. Or at least not like that."

Rupert stared at Xander, troubled by the similarities and differences. Xander loved Willow platonically, but didn't want to sleep with her. Rupert was highly attracted to Anya, but didn't love her. And yet... if he **wasn't** involved with Anya, what did his current involvement with her do to his non-amnesiac self? Had he destroyed a friendly business partnership by sleeping with Anya now? Or were his current actions even worse; perhaps he had truly believed himself to be in love with Anya, and was just now realizing his mistake as he saw her with new eyes. When he got his memory back, would the other him be grateful to him for making him see this, or would this knowledge destroy him? And he needed to stop thinking about himself in the third person; it was giving him a headache.

"And there's something else," Xander mumbled, not looking him in the eyes. "Willow and I had a long talk last night. She said, um, she thinks that she might be, uh, she said that she's kinda... gay." Xander gave him a hard stare. "And that doesn't surprise you at all, does it?"

"Well," Rupert admitted, "I did seem to me that Willow was more attracted to Tara than she was to you."

"You're kidding," exclaimed Xander. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"It was hardly any of my concern, now was it?"

"Maybe not," Xander allowed grudgingly. "But maybe it was. We're all working in the dark here. Anything that sheds some light on our situation needs to be shared. You holding anything else out on us?"

_Yes, a one-way plane ticket to London_. "No, nothing." Xander gave him an odd look, clearly disbelieving him, but made no effort to call him on his lie. When Rupert lifted his eyebrow at him and nodded at a book, Xander shrugged and went back to work. The two men didn't talk again until the others returned.

~*~*~

Xander's fears were proven correct, as tensions among the small group continued to rise. Xander and Willow officially broke up the following day, and that didn't help matters at all. Oh, it was an amicable break-up, and neither seemed to have any hard feelings, but they were distinctly uncomfortable with each other now. Willow and Tara threw more and more longing looks at each other by the day, but they kept their distance. Rupert suspected that Willow now felt too guilty to pursue the person that she obviously wanted. He felt badly for the girls, but he was too caught up in his own triangle to offer them any comfort.

Technically, it was inaccurate to refer to his circumstances as a love triangle, but Rupert couldn't hide from the fact that that was what he was living. He was tied to one woman, but was drawn to another. This knowledge sickened him--**he** sickened him--but it was a truth that was becoming more and more difficult to hide from. 

Anya was a wonderful woman--no doubt whatsoever about that--but Buffy was amazing to him. She hid a ferocious intelligence under light banter and a quirky personality, one that he found utterly charming. She was always late, but had an uncanny ability to organize others and suggest profitable avenues of exploration. She had an internal strength that astounded him, far more so than the supernatural physical strength that she apparently possessed. She was kind to Dawn and Tara, and always had a tactful remark to make when tensions arose among the others. And she had the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. As much as he hated to admit it, he thought that he could fall head over heels in love with Buffy if he ever permitted himself to do so. If he didn't already have another woman who was in love with him...

And Buffy had feelings for him; he was certain of it. She sought out his company more than any of the others, and only seemed to relax when they were alone together. She teased him incessantly, with dancing eyes and a brilliant smile that made it clear that there was no malice behind her barbs. And she **hated** Anya. The easy camaraderie between Rupert and the small blonde might be indicative of nothing but friendship, and Buffy's distaste for Anya's company could easily be attributed to his fiancée's rather unique personality, but Rupert didn't think so. Sometimes, when they were together, there were flashes of **something** in Buffy's hazel eyes, some indefinable emotion that looked very much like passion. Each time this happened, they would both retreat in confusion. Buffy would start an argument with Anya, usually with the slightest of provocations, he would throw himself deeper into research, and his fiancée would pull him into a backroom for some mind-blowing sex. And he would tell himself once again that he was a bastard. 

This couldn't go on. Rupert wasn't sure whether he was going to have a nervous breakdown from the guilt of his conflicted feelings, or a heart attack from one of Anya's more vigorous displays of possessiveness, but one of them was imminent if they didn't make a break-through soon. Rupert wondered which way would be a better one to go.


	7. Chapter Six

Note: Much of this scene comes from the "Tabula Rasa" transcript. The spell that didn't occur in the episode is in Akkadian, and translates, "Bones, bones, rise up!" Also, the Russian swearwords that Giles uses in this chapter and the next one are bad. **Really** bad. Don't use them on anyone who actually speaks Russian. (Or be prepared for a lengthy hospital stay if you do...)

Part Six

One night after all the others had left, Anya turned to Rupert with a determined expression. "It's been over a week since we woke up, and we're no further along than we were to begin with."

"That's not true at all," Rupert objected. "We have learned a great deal about the supernatural." 

"That's just stuff for Buffy," Anya said with a nasty edge to her voice. "I'm tired of doing research for Buffy when it isn't helping us at all. Not everything is about the Slayer, you know." Rupert started to protest, but Anya overrode him with an artificial brightness. "So I've decided to stop doing things your way, and just use my powers as a magic shop owner. I don't see why we need the others anyway." She grabbed a book from the shelf and brought it over to him with a smile. "This is the book for us."

Rupert took the book curiously. It wasn't one that they had opened before. "Does it focus on mind control, or, or memory loss?"

"Not exactly," she admitted, without a hint of self-consciousness. "I just, um... my intuition tells me this is the book. And I figure being a magic shop owner and a natural at the supernatural, I should trust my intuition."

Didn't she understand how dangerous it could be to play with magic willy-nilly? He might not know what the exact consequences were, but he was entirely sure that they were dire. Still, some instinct told him that lecturing Anya would do more harm than good. Instead, he caressed her face and gentled his voice. "Y-yes, fine, but as you recall, I too am a magic shop owner."

Anya once again proved that the tactful approach was not always the best one to take with her as she gave him a bright smile and said, "True. But, as I mentioned before, my intuition says that you're not so much the magic guy and more of a paperwork type." Rupert started to object, but Anya didn't give him an opportunity to do so. She opened the book, apparently at random, and said, "Okay, here we go."

Rupert was alarmed by Anya's reckless attitude, and started to object. "But you don't even know—"

Anya's chanting cut him off. "Bara bara himble gemination." To Rupert's surprise, a white bunny suddenly appeared on the table. He was even more surprised when his fiancée shrieked in terror and grabbed hold of him. Before he could say anything, however, Anya repeated the spell... and this time five bunnies popped up out of the ether.

"Anya," Rupert said carefully, "did you have any particular reason for repeating that same spell?"

"Of course," she answered nervously. "It's clear that I simply didn't pronounce the words correctly. Let me try again. "BA-ra BA-ra him-BLE gem-in-A-tion!"

Anya was correct; pronunciation did matter. Now, rather than six rabbits, there were at least sixty of them. They were on the counter, on the floor, on the shelves, and, worst of all, the blasted rodents were crawling all over his books on the table. Rupert counted to ten, slowly, and then suggested, "Perhaps we should try another book."

"No," Anya insisted resolutely. "This book made the little fluffers, and this book's gonna send 'em back. I've got it this time, okay." Anya studied her book and mumbled, "Himble abri, abri voyon."

He was grateful when only one bunny appeared this time, so he contented himself with a simple, "Yes, dear." He soon wondered whether he shouldn't have used stronger language, however, for Anya began saying the same spell over and over again, using different intonations and pitch each time. Within minutes, the store was overflowing with rabbits, and Anya was standing on the table, clearly on the edge of panic. When her latest spell created a green cloud that hovered near the ceiling, he felt compelled to speak up again. "Clearly that is not a helpful book, **darling**. Come down, and we will go about fixing this in a sensible fashion!"

Instead of admiring his restraint, Anya was outraged. "Sensible! You think it's sensible for me to go down into that pit of cotton-top hell, and let them hippity-hop all over my vulnerable flesh?"

Rupert had had enough. "Fine, then just stay up there and keep making bunnies!"

"You think that's all I can do," she asked angrily. "Well, I'll show you! Try this one on for size, smarty-pants! "Esemtu esemtu tebi!"

Anya did show him. She showed him that she was capable of creating a skeleton and bringing it to life. Any hopes that Rupert may have had that the skeleton intended to sing and dance were soon shattered when the creature made a dive for his neck. "Christ," he yelped as he rolled over the table to get away from the animated bones. He ran into the back room to grab a sword, and the creature followed him. Soon they both had weapons in their hands and were clanging them together. Rupert had to yell in order to be heard over all the chaos. "Get a different book! Put that book down, do you hear?" He ducked to avoid a particularly vicious sword thrust, and then turned back towards Anya. Speaking as emphatically as he could, Rupert slowly said, "Not ... that... book!"

Anya finally listened to him, but remained stubbornly convinced that she alone could fix matters. She grabbed another book, opened it at random, and screamed aloud the first spell she found. A giant creature, a cross between a hyena and a rhinoceros, suddenly appeared in the middle of the store. Rupert ran from his opponent, grabbed Anya's hand, and dived behind the counter. The terrifying creature apparently began eating the skeletal creature and the bunnies, for they could hear the crack of bones and the squeals of small rodents. Within minutes the crunching stopped, and a horrible growling sound wafted through the store. Rupert peeked over the counter, and saw that the creature was sniffing for them; it would only be a matter of time before they were found. He started frantically looking through books, to try and undo Anya's last disastrous spell. Without even looking at her, he snarled "Look what you've done, you lunatic woman!"

"Don't blame me," she whispered heatedly. "You snobby, snotty, thinks he's so great kind of jerk... and I feel compelled to take some vengeance on you." 

To Rupert's shock, his fiancée hit him over the head with her book as soon as she finished speaking. It hurt, and made him say more than he normally would have. "Ow! God, no wonder I'm leaving you!"

Anya was dumbfounded. "What?!?"

Rupert was too angry to feel his customary shame with regard to Anya, or to remember why he hadn't originally told her about his discovery. "Our first night, when we woke up, I found a one-way ticket to London, and out of this engagement! Like a fool, I thought that my other self was making a mistake, and that I should try to work this out for him. Now, I wish I had taken that bloody trip!"

"Of all the nerve!" Anya was clearly upset, and Rupert began to feel badly again. Before he could apologize, however, she snatched off her ring and threw it at him. He tried to catch it, but her throw was poor and it bounced onto the floor. Before he could stop it, the ring rolled in front of the counter and headed towards the creature that Anya had summoned earlier. Looking near tears, Anya cried out, "Now look at what you've done! That thing is gonna eat my ring."

Although some small part of him insisted that he was not responsible for Anya's actions, Rupert felt terribly guilty. Hoping to rectify matters for her, he began searching his book in earnest. It wasn't long before he found what he believed to be the correct spell. Keeping his voice low, so that the hyena-monster wouldn't hear him, Rupert whispered, "Fatas... venga... mata... waray!"

A blinding blue light flashed above them, and the growling noises abruptly stopped. He peeked out of the counter, and discovered that all the uninvited creatures—both supernatural and rodent—were gone. He grinned and let out a happy sigh. "Oh... that's better."

Anya rushed out from behind the counter, almost knocking him over. She picked up her ring and began examining it anxiously. "Oh, thank goodness," she breathed as she put it back on.

Rupert came out from behind the counter, and tried to think of something to say. All he could think of was a simple apology. "I'm so sorry, dear."

"No. Rupie, I'm sorry," she gushed. "You were right. That was the wrong book."

He might not love her, but it was moments such as these that brought home how completely this woman **deserved** to be loved. Confused, he stuttered out, "Oh... um... Yes, it was. But I'm, I'm still sorry."

"Don't leave me," she begged shamelessly.

"Oh, Anya," he breathed. "Please don't ask that of me. I don't know why we were together originally, and I don't know why I was leaving, but I really can't make any decisions right now, when everything is so up in the air."

"We're together because you love me," Anya said hotly. "And—"

"No, I don't," Rupert interrupted her.

Anya looked at him with tears in her eyes. "But, but you must! You have to! You asked me to marry you and you gave me this beautiful ring and—"

"Anya, I'm sure the other me loved you very much." He gave her a rather wet grin. "How could he not? You're beautiful, charming, intelligent, and loyal. But... you're just not the woman for **me**."

Rupert had been worried about hurting her feelings, but she looked more angry than hurt. And still determined to misunderstand him. "But the ring! You gave me a ring!"

"No, I didn't," he said gently. Her eyes got wide, and he hastened to explain. "A man who was molded and shaped by experiences that I can't remember gave a ring to a woman who was likewise changed by experiences that **she** now can't remember. Perhaps they weren't perfect together, but they made compromises for each other and learned to find a place in each other's lives." He lifted her chin, and forced her to look him in the eyes. "But Anya, that man isn't me, and that woman isn't you. And I don't think we fit together the way we should." 

Tears began flowing down Anya's face, and she started to remove her ring once more. He grabbed her hand and stopped her. "No, keep it. Please." Crying in earnest now, Anya nodded and then fled the room. Rupert plopped down heavily in a chair and began beating his head against the table. He was the single biggest bastard on the face of the planet.

He had barely gotten started thinking of despicable names for himself when Willow burst into the store. "I've got it! I've really got it this time!"

Reluctantly, Rupert forced himself to face the redhead. "Got what," he asked wearily.

"The spell! I figured out which spell was used, and I know how to break it," she declared excitedly. "It's the _tabula rasa_ spell, definitely!"

Rupert was confused. "But I thought we'd already ruled that out. There should be a crystal involved in that spell, and--"

"And I've found it," she squeaked happily. "I was going through stuff, and I found a small pouch. I don't know how I missed it earlier. There was a crystal in the pouch, and **it was black**!"

A black crystal... "Call the others," Rupert said decisively. We're getting our memories back. Tonight."

~*~*~

It took almost half an hour for everyone to gather together. Anya was the last one to arrive, preferring to stay in the back room until Rupert went to fetch her. Her eyes were red and her face was blotchy, but she still gave him a wobbly smile when he called her name. Rupert decided that there wasn't a word in the English language vile enough to describe him, and began to hunt for Russian explicatives. A _soochnei seen_, that was him.

When they came out, Xander immediately spoke up. "Are you okay, Anya? What's the matter?"

"Rupie dumped me," she sniffled. Rupert cringed at the hard glares that the others directed at him, and started to feel a little less guilty. "He said that we can't get married just because he doesn't love me," she said with a broken sob.

Xander immediately leapt forward and took the weeping woman in his arms. While hugging her, he looked over Anya's shoulder and gave her ex-fiancée a baleful look. "It's alright, Ahn," he said comfortingly. "You probably deserve better than him anyway."

"Yeah," Buffy said kindly, "you'll find somebody. I just know it."

"You don't have to gloat, Buffy," Anya said nastily. When Buffy gave her a blank look, the spurned woman got even angrier. "I know that you're hoping to scoop him up for yourself. I've seen the way you look at him! And—"

"Now, Anya," Rupert hastily interrupted. "You're imagining things. Buffy had nothing more to do with my decision to call off our engagement than anyone else here. So I don't believe that we should be discussing this in front of them." Seeing that Xander looked like he wanted to interject something, Rupert rushed on. "But perhaps we should, um, get back to the matter at hand. To, erm, regaining our mem- memories?" He turned to the redhead in desperation and asked, "Willow?"

"I checked the spell one more time," the bubbly girl said, "and I'm **certain** this is the one we want." She held up a darkened crystal, and placed it in the center of the table. "All we have to do is smash this crystal, and everything should be honky-dory!"

"So," Dawn asked, "who wants to do the honors?"

Buffy grabbed a large, heavy statue. "Why don't we all take hold of this, and smash the crystal together?"

Since nobody had any objections to this plan, everyone grouped around the edge of the table, huddling close together. Buffy counted, "One, two, THREE," and brought the statue down hard. A green light flashed through the store for a brief moment. And then everyone in the store was suddenly smashed apart, just as the crystal had been. But in this case, memories crashed down upon them, instead of large statues.

Rupert, no **Giles'** eyes opened wide. He felt dizzy, so he shook his head, hoping to clear it. The thoughts that came rushing into his head sickened him.

He thought that he had saturated himself with guilt over the last week or so, but he now discovered that he hadn't even come close. His rampant hormones had RUINED two valuable friendships. Not only was he incapable of looking anyone in the eye, he wasn't sure if he could even keep from throwing up. 

And then, Xander thoughtfully took away his need to worry about anything at all. The young man screamed, "You sonofabitch!" and clocked him across the jaw. Giles' last thought was that unconsciousness had never seemed so appealing before.


	8. Chapter Seven

NOTE: I could not have written this chapter without Taryn's invaluable assistance. She has an amazingly deft touch with Xander that I sadly lack. Any out-of-character statements that remain are completely my responsibility, however.

Part Seven

Giles wasn't out of it for very long, but he continued to lie on the ground for a while after he woke up. He wanted to take a moment to make sense of things, and if everyone believed him still unconscious, well, that was hardly his fault, now was it?

Willow was in a corner sobbing hysterically while Dawn and Buffy tried to comfort her. There was no sign of Tara, and Giles presumed that that was the reason for Willow's tears. Xander and Anya were standing almost directly above him, screaming at each other. 

"I didn't know, Xander! I never would have slept with another man if I had known that I was really engaged to you." Anya had a point. She was insanely loyal, and Giles was certain that neither he nor any other man would ever have had a shot with her if the ex-demon had been in full possession of her faculties. Not that he had ever dreamed of attracting her attention before, but still...

"It's not about that, Ahn," her true fiancé was saying angrily. "It's about the fact that when I was with Willow (or thought I was with Willow), all of my lusty thoughts revolved around you, but you never looked at me. Not even once! And you just couldn't keep your hands off of Giles! I **knew** that Willow wasn't the one for me, but you were doing just fine. Every five minutes it was 'fee fi fo fum, I'm having sex with the Englishman'." Xander had a point as well. If Anya was really loved Xander as much as she claimed, then there should have been some sign of it during their group amnesia. There had been **no** such signs, not even the smallest indication.

"But I couldn't cheat on my fiancé," Anya protested. "Or the man that I **thought** was my fiancé, or whatever we want to call Giles. That would be wrong! And would call for future vengeance!"

"What am I to you, Anya," Xander asked with cold curiosity. "Am I just a guy that you say you love because I was the first one to sleep with you after you became human? Are you in love with me, or is it really all about The Sex?"

"Of course not, Xander," Anya said hotly. "How could you ask that?"

"Be honest," the young man urged. "I need to know. Cause I can't marry you if that is all that is going on with you."

Anya started to cry, for the second time that day. "Are you breaking up with me, Xander?"

Xander sighed. "I don't want to," he said earnestly. "I **love** you, Ahn! Do you even **get** that? I don't love you because you sleep with me; I love you for being your tact-impaired self. But I need to know you love me for me, too. I need to know that you love the goofy, loud shirt-wearing, Babylon 5 plate collecting carpenter, not just his... tools. Maybe back in your day, marriage, love and... tools were all the same thing, but it shouldn't be like that. We deserve better than that. I don't want to see you regret marrying me twenty years down the line when my tools are all rusty. Not that I don't take good care of them. But our marriage has to be about more than that."

Well, the boy didn't need much, did he? Giles felt that it was time to intervene, before Xander said something that he couldn't come back from. Giles stood up slowly, rubbing a bump on the back of his head that he had acquired when he fell. Xander looked chagrined, but he didn't apologize. The Watcher was profoundly grateful for this lack of courtesy; he felt guilty enough already. "How do you know that she wouldn't have come to her senses about me, Xander?"

Anya gave him a brilliant smile, and Xander scowled. Giles fought down a plea to his partner to stop helping him. A moment later he wished that he had sent out that plea, for Anya lightly touched his arm and said, "Rupie's right, you know."

"Rupie," Xander spat out. "You're still calling him Rupie! Do you care to tell me all the times and places that you've called him Rupie, **Ahn**?"

Giles felt himself going cold, and leaned in close to the boy. Hissing quietly, so nobody else could hear, he said, "You have every right in the world to hate me, Xander. I'm not even sure I would respect you if you didn't. But you watch your tone when you talk to Anya."

Xander jerked away from Giles and his eyes blazed with something not entirely sane. At one time, Giles had been heavier and better trained than Xander, but he was nervously aware that that was no longer the case. The carpenter could tear him apart, if he chose. The fact that Buffy was ushering Willow and Dawn into the training room in order to give them some privacy filled him with both gratitude and dread.

That dangerous gleam unexpectedly died from the younger man's eyes, however, and Giles released a tense breath that he hadn't been aware he was holding. Xander ran his hands through his hair and said, "You're right. Ahn, I'm sorry. You just... it's just... look... it's like this." Xander took a deep breath and began again. "I don't think I even realized how much I loved you, until today. Giles has been my friend for years, the only man I ever knew that I could look up to, and all of a sudden I want to rip out his spine. Not because he did anything wrong, or because you did, but because I'm crazy enough for you to actually **be** a bit crazy over you."

Giles nodded; he understood Xander perfectly. Anya didn't, however. "So you're more in love with me because I made you jealous? That doesn't make any sense! That's the sort of human stupidity that kept me far too busy for far too many years," she said with asperity.

Xander took her hands, and looked into her eyes. "You're not getting it. It isn't about jealousy, or not really. Those last few days showed me a reality where you weren't mine, and never were, and I **hate** the thought of that. More than you'll ever know." Xander closed his eyes, and braced himself. "I, I have a confession to make. I've been asking myself whether getting married is really the right thing for us to do. I've been wondering whether we shouldn't postpone the wedding or maybe call it off." 

"What," Anya screeched in protest. "Alexan–"

Xander cut her off. "I was scared that I was too young to get married. Too young to be sure." He opened his eyes at last, and stared deeply into hers. Giles felt like an intruder, but he was afraid that the noise of his departure would break their moment. "But Ahn, now I know. It's you, and it's always going to be you. My time with Willow proved to me that I don't want anybody else, and your time with Giles proved to me that I can't stand the thought of you with anybody else. I'm **sure** now, sure about us in a way that I never have been before. I want you, and I want you forever. For the first time I can say this and really mean it: our wedding day can't come soon enough for me." 

"Oh, Xander," she said wetly. "Let's go home and have some orgasms."

Xander grinned, and then his smile faded. "Sure, but we'll have to, um, make a stop on the way. We need to pick something up."

Anya frowned, a little confused, then her face brightened. "Is it a surprise for me?" she asked excitedly.

Xander turned a very deep red. "Sorta. A necessary, not so pleasant surprise." It was obvious he wasn't getting away with that explanation when Anya put her hands on her hips and stared at him. He took a breath and continued quickly. "You need a new diaphragm. Will, um, Willow's been kinda... using yours... for the past few days."

Giles couldn't fight down a disgusted flinch; that really was quite revolting. Anya, however, was far more vocal. "You mean that she erased all our memories, and then she got to have sex with you as a reward? In our bed? For an entire week? And she used my diaphragm to do it? If that doesn't call for vengeance, I don't know–"

"Ahn!" Xander shouted. He calmed his voice, and tried again. "Anya, it wasn't for the entire week, just until we broke up." He glared at her, to remind her that he wasn't the only one who had strayed, but she glared right back. Trying to change the subject, Xander asked, "What were you using last week anyway? I know that you don't like condoms and Willow had your diaphragm, so what..." Xander trailed off, clearly reading the shock and panic evident on both Giles and Anya's faces. "You didn't use anything, did you?" He suddenly grabbed Giles by his shirt and threw him onto the table. "Did you, you bastard," he screamed, hands going for the older man's throat.

Before things could progress further, Buffy ran over and pulled Xander off of him. Giles thanked the Powers that Be for her Slayer hearing. If she hadn't heard Xander's scream from the back room, the boy could have hurt him very badly before he came back to his senses. The Watcher sat up with as much dignity as he could muster and gingerly rubbed his throat. "No, we didn't. I didn't have any--" Giles glanced at Buffy, and suddenly realized how little he wanted her to witness this conversation. "Any, um, any, uh, you know. I didn't have any. And Anya didn't appear to have anything there of, erm, of that nature, so we assumed..."

Xander still looked incredibly angry, but he was starting to calm down. "I get it. I don't like it, but I get it."

"Well, I don't," said Buffy. 

Giles prayed that Buffy would forget this incident and remain in ignorance, but prayers such as those were never answered on the Hellmouth. A fact that Anya rammed home to him once again when she opened her mouth. "Giles and I thought that I was on some form of long-term birth control, so we didn't–"

"Oh," Buffy interrupted rapidly. "You mean...? Oh. I mean, I know you guys, and you thought you were, and it's understandable, but..." She gave Giles a cold, hurt look, and then muttered under her breath, "oh."

Giles watched Buffy as she angrily stomped away, and he mentally swore at himself. Had he called himself a _soochnei seen_ earlier? He was a _durak._ When Buffy gathered the other girls and ushered them out the back entrance, Giles decided that the only term that could ever begin to describe him was _yob tvoyu mat' zhopnik_.

Giles' self-flagellation was interrupted by Xander's voice, sounding surprisingly calm. "Well, I guess we should talk about worst-case scenarios here."

"Wor- worst-case," Giles asked. On the Hellmouth, that phrase could mean anything.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "Like what's going to happen if Anya really is pregnant?"

__

Shit. He should have thought of that possibility immediately; he was disgusted with himself that he hadn't. Actually, he was disgusted with himself anyway. Just how much of a mess had he made of their lives just because he couldn't keep his fly closed? "Well, I would be there, of course. I–"

"Wrong." Giles looked up at the cold voice, and saw Xander staring at him with glittery eyes. "That's not at all that way it will happen. You **won't** be there."

Giles took a deep breath, and reminded himself that Xander was the aggrieved party here. Still, he couldn't completely swallow his hurt and anger at Xander's outrageous statement. "Of **course** I would be there for my child," he gritted out. "Surely you know me well enough to know that I would never abandon such a responsibility."

"Yeah," Xander grunted out. "I know you wouldn't. What I am saying is that no baby of Anya's will ever **be** your responsibility. Every kid Anya ever has will have Harris for a last name and will call me daddy, no matter how he came to be. He'll eat Pop Tarts for breakfast, play baseball instead of cricket, and tea will never pass his lips. EV-er." The young man leaned close to Giles, and the menace rolled off him in waves. "And if you don't think that you can accept that, then you had better stay the hell away from my family."

"Now, just one damn minute! I–"

Before Giles could really begin expressing his outrage, Anya derailed his train of thought with a solid punch to his arm. When he turned towards her to protest, he saw that she was giving Xander an equally vicious jab. Both men let out astonished "Ow's" simultaneously.

Anya was unmoved by their expressions of pain. "That's enough! Yes, I know that you are both very manly men. Both of you have already proven to me that you have large amounts of testosterone. There's no reason for you two to do this."

Giles started to protest this assessment, but Xander beat him to it. "There's every reason to do this. This isn't a pissing content, Ahn; this is me, taking care of my family the best I can. I wasn't planning on marching in the preschool parade anytime soon, but if you **are** pregnant, then I will love that child with everything that I have." Xander turned away from Anya, and stared at his closest male friend, and current rival. "But it needs to be **our** family, not ours with Giles' helpful suggestions. Things can be tough for newlyweds if they already have a kid. The last thing we need is Giles butting into our lives every five seconds, handing out parenting tips and pointing out all our screw-ups." 

Xander was absolutely right. Young marriages seldom fared well in the face of constant interference; he could easily damage their relationship without ever intending to do so. He nodded slowly and deliberately, maintaining eye contact with the younger man until Xander nodded back. "And if I respect your family dynamics? Will there be a place for me then?"

Anya bubbled out a happy "absolutely," but Giles ignored her and continued to stare at Xander, however. It was his answer that he needed. 

Xander stared back at Giles, and then nodded. "The kid will need his Uncle Rupert," the boy said lightly. "Actually, no one needs an Uncle Rupert--unless he's really, really rich--but an Uncle Giles would be kind of cool." It was clear that the joking tone was forced, but the look in his dark eyes assured the Watcher that he was sincere. "After all, Anya doesn't have any relatives, and I sure as hell don't want the little guy meeting any of mine. If he's to have any male role models other than me, it would pretty much have to be you."

Giles gave a slight grin, but inwardly he was rejoicing. Xander was quite adept at holding grudges, and Giles had assumed that his young friend would not forgive him for a very long time, if ever. And yet, the distinct lack of bitterness in Xander's tone indicated that the young man had done exactly that. Giles suspected that the carpenter would monitor future interactions with Anya fairly closely for a while, but Xander clearly wasn't going to cut the Watcher out of his life altogether. Giles wondered if the boy's generosity was based in the maturity that he developed when he found a career, or whether it reflected the fact that Giles' friendship was just as precious to him as his friendship was to Giles. Or perhaps it was the boy's innate loyalty that prevented him from truly hating anyone he had once loved.

Whatever the cause for Xander's forgiveness, the Watcher was deeply, deeply grateful for it. He stared intently at his friend, trying like hell to express his gratitude without being forced to speak it aloud. Unfortunately, both men forgot about Anya, and she shattered their silent communion. "I don't understand why Giles just has to be a honorary uncle. He should be **part** of our family!"

"Uncles are part of families, Anya." Xander made no attempt to hide his confusion. "As long as he doesn't get in the middle of our marriage, Giles will always be family."

Giles felt a warm glow at this declaration, but it was quickly snuffed out by Anya's response. "That's the part I don't understand. He should be part of our marriage! I know that neither of us love him–certainly not like we love each other--and he doesn't love either of us, but still..." Anya trailed out, as she felt both men staring at her. She furrowed her brow, and then finished defiantly, "I think it would be nice."

"Of course it would be nice to have Giles come over for occasional visits." Xander had the cautious look of a man navigating a minefield. This wasn't the first time Giles had seen him wear that expression when trying to decipher one of Anya's more outrageous statements, but this was the first time he had ever been involved. "That's what you're talking about, right Anya? Dinner every once in a while, and sometimes a video?"

"No," Anya said with irritation. Obviously, she felt that Xander was being deliberately obtuse. "I'm talking about sex."

"What?!?" Both men were shocked, and it was impossible to say whose voice cracked higher on that yelp.

"Giles doesn't have the same stamina that you have, Xander, (he is nearly fifty, after all) but he is very, very good. It's clear that he has a lot of experience and skill! You could learn a lot. Also," Xander stuffed his hands over his ears, but Anya continued on unheeding. "Your penis is a bit longer, but his is thicker. The two of you together would be just perfect," she finished with a small sigh.

Giles was incredulous. "You want both of us in your bed?"

"Not just my bed," Anya replied sulkily, obviously feeling insulted. "It would be nice for the two of you too. I've heard all about Ethan, so I know that you're bisexual. I think you'd like Xander. He has a very nice ass, and..."

"Stop! I'm not hearing this! We're not talking about a..." Xander let out a shaky laugh. "I can't even say it!" When it looked like Anya might say something, he put a quick hand over her mouth. "No, I don't need you to say it either. Ever, ever again. Because it will NEVER happen!" He put his arm around his fiancée and began steering her out the door.

Giles felt an insane and uncharacteristic urge to give Xander a suggestive grin and tell him that it was a pity. (Especially when a guilty glance at the departing couple confirmed that Xander did indeed have an attractive bum.) Remembering the look on the younger man's face, however, Giles decided to save that joke for later. Before he went out the door, Xander turned to look back and gave a theatrical shudder. Giles decided that jokes about that last conversation would not come until much, much later. Their next incarnation, perhaps.

With a heavy sigh, Giles began cleaning up his store. So absorbed was he in this task, that he didn't notice Buffy slipping back in. He had no idea that she was there, in fact, until she tapped him on the shoulder. Ignoring his startled jump, Buffy said quietly, "We need to talk."


	9. Chapter Eight

Part Eight

Giles put on as impassive a face as he could, and turned to face Buffy. She no longer wore the sunny smile and cheerful demeanor that had graced her beautiful face all last week, but she didn't look nearly as cold and detached as she had the day he told her he was leaving Sunnydale. Perhaps a vacation from her life had been a good thing for Buffy.

"So..." she drawled out. 

Giles waited, but nothing else was forthcoming. It was up to him. "So..." he said, and then paused in confusion. He didn't find it any easier to say anything more meaningful than Buffy had. The situation was absurd. It had been so easy to talk to her before, when they didn't have their memories. So easy, so effortless, so, so **addicting**. Now it took everything he had not to run; conversation was quite beyond him.

Buffy's mouth opened a twice, but nothing came out. Just as he decided that it would be up to him after all, she abruptly asked, "You still leaving?"

"I missed my plane," he answered evasively.

She glared at him, and he had the grace to lower his eyes. Buffy snorted in irritation, and continued as if he hadn't spoken. "Do you still feel that leaving is the right thing to do?"

That was an interesting question, and Giles wasn't quite sure how to answer it. "I, I'm not sure," he said truthfully.

"What do you mean, you're not sure," Buffy demanded. "You're either going to split, or you're not. Which is it?"

Giles had gotten used to Buffy's gentle good humor over the past week, and their easy camaraderie. The sharp tone made him feel as if he had been slapped. He ran his hands through his hair and began pacing. "It's not that simple, Buffy. I told you before that I didn't want to go, and I still don't. But my desires don't count as much here as your needs."

"My needs," Buffy asked angrily. "What gives you the right to decide what I do and do not need?"

"The right of a friend? The right of somebody who cares about you?" Buffy glared at him, and he suddenly felt very tired. "Christ, Buffy, I don't know. All I know is that I don't want you to rely upon me so much that you stop trusting yourself. You need to know that you're strong mentally and psychically, not just physically. And **I** need you to know that. If I'm standing in your way, then I need to move."

Buffy growled, literally growled, and Giles fought down a thrill of fear. Perhaps it wasn't the best idea to mention strength to an angry Slayer. "So you're all about the self-sacrifice, huh Giles? And I suppose that a fun-filled trip back to Merry Olde England has nothing to do with this decision?"

Giles knew Buffy, and he knew that she only attacked when she felt threatened. So he swallowed his initial retort, and answered softly, "No trip is likely to be all that fun-filled if you're not there. Every place on earth is like purgatory, except the Hellmouth, where you are to be found." Buffy gawked at him, and Giles replayed his last speech in his head. How it sounded, and the implications it brought forth. "I, I didn't mean... What I meant to say was... um..."

The open confusion on Buffy's face suddenly disappeared, and was replaced by a carefully neutral look. "I get it. I mean, I understand what you meant. You meant you' as in you all,' as in all the Scoobies. Every place but the Hellmouth is hell because your family is here. I get it."

That actually had been what Giles meant when he spoke up, but as Buffy translated for him, he realized that it wasn't true. Not at all. It would be easy, oh so easy, to allow Buffy to continue to believe it, and for a moment he was tempted to do just that. But he couldn't. Not because he expected or even wanted to hear that he was more special to Buffy than her other friends, but because he couldn't permit that large of a falsehood to lie between them. "I love Willow and Xander. Very, very much. I am extremely fond of Dawn, Anya, and Tara. But Buffy, my life revolves around you. I stay when you need me to stay, and I go when you need me to go. But if you ask me what I **want**, well, I **want** to be with you."

Buffy was silent, and Giles wondered how big of a fool she thought him right now. "So let me get this straight. You want to stay with me; I want you to stay with me. You'll be miserable if you leave; I'll be miserable if you leave. But you'll break both of our hearts without a moment's hesitation if it's in my best interest."

"Buffy," he groaned. "You can't go on, depending upon me to run your life for you."

"Have I done that?" Giles scowled, so Buffy quickly added, "Recently? Have I asked you to make my decisions or clean up my messes all week?"

"No," Giles admitted, "but the past week was hardly indicative–"

"But it is," Buffy interrupted. "It's totally indicative. You said it yourself: spatula raisin."

"Spatula what?" Giles was used to Buffy's mangling of words, but this one had him stumped.

"Spatula raisin," she answered patiently. "Blank slate. Whatever we were like last week, is what we're really like."

"The term is _tabula rasa_." Giles gave her a sharp look. "Which you know perfectly well, as you were the first one to use it. I always suspected that you forgot names deliberately, just to an–"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Buffy interrupted. "And besides, you're changing the subject."

"Which is," he asked mildly.

"Tell me, Giles," Buffy began, her facial expression giving nothing away. "What were things like between us last week? What was **I** like?" 

Giles had no desire to answer the first question, so he concentrated upon the second one instead. He took a moment to put his thoughts in order, and then said, "You were magnificent." He closed his eyes, so he wouldn't have to look at her during such a personal conversation. "You were strong, confident, dependable, witty, and wonderful. More importantly, you were happy. You were exactly like the girl I first met five years ago, but with a strong sense of responsibility and a commendable amount of maturity." He opened his eyes and stared intently into hers. "I enjoyed your company very much."

Buffy blushed. "That's nice to hear, but that isn't what I meant. Did I lean on you? Did I take you for granted?"

"No," Giles answered softly, "you didn't. You didn't need to. You were gloriously self-sufficient."

"So, now we know I can do it," Buffy declared. "I can stand on my own, and you can stay."

"Of course you can stand on your own," Giles snapped. "I never would have considered leaving if I hadn't known that to be true. The point is–"

"You don't have a point anymore!" Buffy scowled fiercely at him, and Giles prepared himself for the inevitable outcome. Buffy would yell at him, and then storm out. His resignation must have shown on his face, for Buffy's expression suddenly softened. "The point **was** that **I** didn't know that I could stand on my own. I know that now, and it makes a difference."

"How," he asked bluntly. "How does this knowledge change things?" Buffy looked thoughtful, and Giles began to hope. He could not afford to react to petulance, or pouts, or childishness, but logic and reason were different matters altogether. If she could rationally prove to him that she was strong and capable, then he could stay. And God, he longed to stay.

"I've been assuming that all I am, everything that makes me **me**, comes from my experiences," she began slowly. "I'm the girl who was Chosen near the end of her freshman year of high school. The girl who got expelled from her first high school and died during her sophomore year. The girl who gave her virginity to a vampire and was forced to kill her first love when she was seventeen. The girl who lost her mother and then her own life when she was twenty. The woman whose friends dragged her out of Heaven." Buffy's eyes lost some of their clarity at that last statement, and Giles felt the beginning of despair, all the more bitter for the hope that had been born moments before. Before he could say anything, however, she continued. "What I forgot, or maybe never realized, is that there is a core **me**, one that doesn't depend upon my experiences. Last week I met that core me, and I liked her."

"So did I," Giles admitted. "I also like you, however."

Buffy smiled. "Thanks for saying that, but I haven't deserved anybody's friendship for a while." 

Giles felt a flush of anger flooding his system. "Don't say that, Buffy! It isn't true!"

"Isn't it," she asked bitterly. "I hid from you where I was; I hid it from all of you... except for Spike." Giles frowned when Buffy mentioned the blonde vampire, but held his tongue. "I hated the others for bringing me back, and I hated you and Dawn for being so damn happy about it. And I hated me most of all, for not being worthy of Heaven." This statement was too much for the Watcher, and he started to protest, but she shook her head. He fell silent, waiting for her to finish. "Spike told me that I came back wrong, and I believed him."

"That's rot," Giles grated out. "Utter bullshit, in fact."

Buffy cocked her head, and then continued on as if he hadn't said anything. "Yeah, it is, but I didn't know that until I saw what I could be like if I didn't remember Heaven." She took a deep breath, and stared at him intently. Giles knew that the next words out of her mouth would be the core of what she had been trying to say. "I totally believed that I didn't belong here, and that's why I was using you, Giles. I didn't want you to **do** things for me, I wanted you to **live** for me. I didn't think that I deserved to be alive, so I didn't want to put in the work that living entails. But that woman I was last week, she deserves to live. And she **liked** living. And that woman is in me, if I'm willing to look past my past and search her out." Giles had thought that Buffy had put all of her soul into her unwavering gaze, but he was mistaken. She suddenly turned up the intensity in her hazel eyes, and they trapped him. A mouse caught by a blonde cobra. "But Giles, I need help to do that."

"It's going to take time to get over your experiences," Giles said nervously. "I understand that. And if you are honestly willing to try, then I am more than willing to help you." Although he was still shaken by her passion, he gave her the sternest look he was capable of producing. "But Buffy, I can't live for you. I never should have started that habit, and I certainly can't continue it. You have got to take responsibility for yourself and for Dawn. I know that you can stand on your own, but I need to see you actually do it."

"I know that," Buffy said softly, finally dropping her gaze. "And I want to, stand on my own, I mean. **Now** I want to. After I died the first time, Cordy told me that I just needed to deal and move on. I thought she was a bitch for saying that, but maybe she was right. I was in Heaven, and now I'm not. But that doesn't mean that I can't find good things about my life right now. Joan, or Buffy, or whoever she was, she knew that. And now I know it too."

Giles watched her silently, wondering whether she meant what she was saying, or whether she was saying what she felt he needed to hear. She gave him a rueful grin, and in it he could see a whisper of the girl he had known that morning. And he suddenly knew, knew to the core of his soul, that everything would be all right. Buffy was never going to be her old self again, but with Giles' help, she would find a new self to be. Perhaps a better one. He smiled happily, and her grin slowly became more genuine, even as her eyes teared up. She didn't have to tell him that those were happy tears; he knew. Buffy was starting to heal, right now, right before his eyes. Unable to help himself, he opened his arms for a hug, and she dived into his embrace.

They stood that way for hours or perhaps only for a few seconds. Giles honestly didn't know, all he knew was that the sense of rightness he felt while holding Buffy seemed eternal. It was all he could do to keep from crying out when she released him and stepped back. Being British, he hid the maelstrom of his emotions behind a blush and a stammer. "Ah, yes. Quite. You're feeling better now, I take it?"

Buffy's smile was still happy, but now a trace of amusement crept in as well. "I'm fine. Better than fine, in fact. But I'm not done talking about the events of last week." Giles scrunched his forehead in confusion. What more was there to talk about? Buffy clearly read his thoughts, for she continued on, "Now that we settled the question of your leaving, we need to talk about the vibes that were going on between the two of us."

"I, I, I," Giles gulped, hoping the pause would get his stutter under control. "I, uh, don't know what you, you're talking about."

Giles thought that this denial might anger Buffy, but to his surprise, it made her smile seductively at him. "Don't you? Well, maybe it was just me then. Let me tell you what I was feeling, and what I'm still feeling now. That spell took away every memory I had of you being tweedy, and nerdy, as well as every one of me being a teenager and thinking anybody over thirty was impossibly old. And do you know what was left, once those memories were gone?" Giles shook his head mutely, unaccountably terrified of her answer. Her smirk did nothing to quell that fear. "Memory-less me thought you were the yummiest man on earth."

It was up to Giles to respond, but his mind was a complete blank. Time to try the tried and true, repeating what was said to one while searching for an appropriate response. And honestly, it wasn't that difficult to feign bewilderment. "Yum, um, did you say, yummy'?"

"Hm-mmm," Buffy purred sensuously. "Yummy. Definitely. Handsome, smart, adorable... just about perfect except for the annoying fact that you were totally taken. I would have jumped your bones days ago if it hadn't been for Anya, and as it was, I was starting to ask myself if it would **really** be so bad to break up somebody else's engagement." Giles gulped at her, and Buffy sidled in a little closer. "And now that I have all of memories back? I know for a fact that you **are** smart and adorable, but not taken at all. Plus, you're kind, loyal, and have a real talent for sarcasm. Best of all, now that the blinders are off I **still** think you're handsome. In fact, looking back, I can even recall a few occasions that you qualified as down-right sexy, though I didn't realize it at the time."

"Sex–sexy," he gasped out.

"A total babe," she affirmed. "So, would it be indecorous for me to ask you out?"

"Buffy, please, slow down," Giles begged. 

"It's the word indecorous,' isn't it," Buffy asked with dancing eyes. "I mean, **I** would never go out with a guy who used that word myself, but I thought that it might be a bit of a turn-on for you."

Giles wanted to laugh with her, but he couldn't. This was too important. "Buffy," he groaned. "I--"

"I could always go with the old stand-by, I've got a thing, you've got a thing.' I didn't think that was quite **your** thing, but–"

"Buffy," he barked. She looked hurt, but at least she stopped babbling. Appalled that he would think that, Giles carefully modulated his voice to continue more softly, "Buffy. I am feeling quite overwhelmed at the moment. It wasn't so long ago that you compared me to your mother, and now you want us to go out on a date?"

Buffy wilted at that, and Giles felt guilty, but he couldn't back down on this. "I already apologized for that mom thing, but I can do it again if you want. I, I just thought that... It **wasn't** just me, was it? I mean, you were attracted to me too, when we were under Willow's spell, weren't you?"

Giles would have liked to lie to her, would have given anything to do so, in fact, but he couldn't. Heaven help him, but he couldn't. "No. It wasn't just you. I spent all week wanting you." He let out a short, humorless chuckle. "I should have enjoyed my time with Anya, she's a remarkable woman after all." Buffy scowled at that, which made him blush slightly. "But, but after we went to the police station to bail out Spike, after the first time I spent some time alone with you, you were all I could think of." 

Buffy brightened at his admission. "Well, there you go then. When we weren't ourselves, I learned that I want you and you want me. What's the problem?"

What wasn't a problem? Giles sighed. "It isn't that easy, Buffy. Yes, we got along famously when we didn't know each other, but that doesn't just erase all of our past history."

"Why not," she asked simply. Giles gaped at her in confusion, and she continued, "Now that we know that we have major potential together, why shouldn't that wipe out the past?"

"It's not that easy, Buffy," Giles said gently. "I've hurt you, more than once."

"And I've hurt you," Buffy said unhappily. "Way more than once. I know. But Giles, that spell Willow did? It gave us a blank slate. A spatula raisin." Giles cocked an eyebrow at that, and she gave him a quick grin. "Why can't we keep our raisin, spatula and all? Start over, from scratch? See how we fit together."

Giles stared at her intently, trying to calculate the risks and dangers of ignoring six years of history and making a fresh start with Buffy. Was it even possible for him to forget that she was his Slayer, or for him to treat her just as an extraordinary young woman? The potential for disaster was impressively large, and the hazards were too many to count... and he found that he didn't give a flying fuck about those perils at all. He could count on his fingers the times that he had felt happiness within his grasp, but it had never been so close, so **tangible** before. This would be the defining moment for the rest of his life; if he didn't grab this chance, he would never stop regretting it. Giles cleared his throat, and made his decision. "Hello. I don't believe we've met. My name is Rupert Giles."

Buffy gave him a smile brighter than the sun, and he grinned back at her. "Hi. My name's Buffy Summers."

Giles held out his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you Ms. Summers."

"Oh, please," she said. "Call me Buffy."

"If you like. In that case," Giles said, "you must call me Rupert."

Buffy wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Must I? I don't think that the name Rupert' really fits you. It's kind of a sissy name, don't you think?" She raked his body in a blatantly sexual manner. "Somehow, you just don't strike me as the sissy-type."

Giles pretended to look thoughtful at that, but the gleam in his eyes destroyed the illusion. "All of my closest friends call me Giles.' Something tells me that I would like it very much if you were to become a, uh, **close** friend."

Buffy grabbed his shirt, and tilted her head up to whisper in his ear. "How close of a friend are you looking for, Giles?"

He was almost overpowered by her nearness, and by his need to kiss her. But he didn't. He couldn't, not while Anya's indefinable scent still lingered somewhere on his skin. She deserved better from him, and he wanted more as well. There were only two relationships with his Slayer that he would ever consider: the one he had, or a permanent one. Since he was now in the process of destroying his old relationship, that left him with forever. Within that framework, he was in no particular hurry to taste her; he was a strong believer in taking the time to savor new experiences. So he smiled enigmatically at her and said, "Let's discuss that over dinner. Tell me, Buffy, how do you feel about Mexican?" 

Buffy laughed, and grabbed his hand. Giles laughed too, as he turned out the lights in his store and opened the door. As they left the Magic Box, Buffy asked him, "So, at the police station? That was Spike?" Giles nodded, and she mused, "I wonder what happened to him."

Giles turned to her sharply, wondering whether the vampire would come between them this early in their new relationship. "Do you care?"

"Not particularly," Buffy admitted. "I mean, yeah, he's been a pretty good sounding board over the last few months, and I hope nothing bad has happened to him, but I'm not sure that I really **care**. If you're staying, then I think I nee--, um, I'd **prefer** to talk to you instead."

"I need to have you confide in me as well," Giles told her with a soft smile. She grinned, and Giles wondered what the future might hold in store for them. There were still many unresolved questions and complications remaining from the previous week, but Giles had a deep certainty in his soul that things would work out. He and Buffy had too many memories together--both good and bad--to ever have a true blank slate. But they could take the feelings that they already had for each other and take them in new directions. Not a true _tabula rasa_, but rather a spatula raisin. Giles grinned as he thought about Buffy's silly term and about the woman herself. Yes, a spatula raisin was just what all the Scoobies needed. For right now, however, this new start with Buffy was all he could possibly want for himself.

THE END


End file.
